


Picking Up The Pieces

by veritasrose



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Sexy Times, Slow Burn, Some Humor, mostly self neglect, some self harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-01-08 15:39:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 43,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veritasrose/pseuds/veritasrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Freyja wanted was to return to her homeland and live out the rest of her days in peace and seclusion. Then dragons had to return and change everything! Now she finds herself thrust into the chaotic life of a Companion, with the weight of the world on her shoulders, and her growing attraction to one of the most tempestuous men in all of Skyrim definitely doesn't help!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Take a Bow

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is a bit heavy with backstory, as I wanted it to be accessible to those not quite as familiar with the game. Thank you for bearing with me!

    Freyja shifted nervously as the ornately carved doors of Jorrvaskr loomed in front of her. She had never thought she would see it in person, yet here she was, hands resting tentatively on the ancient doors. The wood had been worn smooth by hands of the warriors it had housed through the millennia. When she was a child, she would sit on her father’s knee, and weave tiny braids in his long blond hair while he told her of the legendary mead hall. It was older than the city of Whiterun that surrounded around it. The only thing that predated it was the Skyforge, which some say was carved out of the rocks of Skyrim by the gods themselves.  
  
     The petite half-Breton/half-Nord woman had asked around the town, and everyone spoke very highly of The Companions and encouraged her to join. Though not quite the legendary warriors they used to be, the guild was still well-known and highly respected. The citizens talked of honor and glory, which she didn’t much care about these days. They also said it was a good way to make some coin, and that the group provided food and a bed to their members. THAT she very much cared about! All she had to her name were the clothes on her body, the iron sword at her hip, and the wooden bow and quiver of arrows slung over her shoulder. It wasn’t much. Especially considering that she had taken the weapons from her fallen foes.  
  
    She looked down at the scorched and bloody rags she was wearing and sighed. Her plan to move to Skyrim and start a nice, simple life was turning out to be a huge mistake. Upon leaving the Cyrodill, she had been well-outfitted with every imaginable supply from her shop. She had been wearing supple leather armor tinted forest green to help her blend into the trees. Her bag was packed full with a few precious family possessions she couldn’t bear to part with and the best potions, tastiest food, and softest blankets and clothing the Imperial City could offer. She had equipped herself with a fine Daedric dagger, and an ebony bow she had made herself. When she wielded that bow, it became an extension of her body, and no prey could escape her. It had been years since she had seriously hunted, though. She had been looking forward to putting her skills to use again.  
  
    Then the thunderstorm had hit, and she had sought shelter within the Stormcloak camp. The gorgeous Ralof had been quite chivalrous and offered to let her sleep in his tent, while he stood guard. She had felt guilty leaving the kind soldier out in the storm. She decided to thank him for his hospitality by pulling him into the tent with her. It had been a good long while since she had been with a man. Well, actually, she had NEVER been with a man, but she found they weren’t all that different than Dark Elves. Her jumbled thoughts and a bottle of wine had been her only companions during her week on the road. Now all the energy and emotion had built up until she was ready to explode. The big blond hadn’t seemed to mind helping her burn off that energy, and he was more than successful at taking her mind off of everything, even if it was only for the night. His tent had been dirty, and his blankets rough, but his eyes were kind. When they were done, he had held her close until he drifted off. His deep even breathing and warm arms had lulled her into her first sound night of sleep in months, maybe even years.   
  
    The Imperials had raided at dawn, and had taken everyone prisoner. They were surprised to find a well-dressed young woman among the rough and wild rebels, and decided she must be a spy. They took pleasure in stripping her of her fine gear. She wouldn’t need weapons or fancy armor where she was going. Then the Imperials made her watch as they doled out the keepsakes and the supplies from her pack. She had to be restrained when a Captain took her parents’ wedding rings. When one of the men snapped her sister’s flute, she went wild, biting one captor’s hand and kicking another in the groin. The last thing she saw was the butt of a club descending toward her.   
  
    She woke up in a wagon, blood dripping from a knot on her head and into her eyes. Ralof’s hopeless voice rang in her ears. Her heart ached as he apologized for her being caught up with them. She told him it was alright, and she forgave him. When the Empire sentenced her to death she accepted it, even feeling a bit relieved. The young officer, who seemed to be on familiar though unfriendly terms with Ralof, promised she’d get a proper burial. She appreciated the small kindness.   
  
    Then that damned dragon showed up and turned her world upside down! Instead of the finality and peace of the afterlife, she was thrown into a world of blood, chaos and fire. The air shimmered with heat and reeked of blood and burnt flesh. The terrified screams of the citizens rang in her ears. Everything in her had wanted to stop and help them, but she knew it was useless. The dragon roared, and she could hear all the hate, death and destruction in his voice. Then Ralof appeared, and she followed him gladly. He had used his knowledge of the area and his skills as a warrior to get them to safety. They shared a bed at the Inn in Riverwood that night, relishing that they were still counted among the living. He had wanted her to stay with him, to travel with him to Windhelm and join the rebellion, but she declined. She had come to Skyrim for a life of peaceful solitude and wanted to avoid getting caught up in the conflict that ravaged her homeland.

   Of course, now instead of returning to her childhood home in Riften and living the simple life of a lonely hunter, she was in Whiterun, planning to join a band of noble crusaders in search of fellowship, glory, and gold! At least she’d be fighting her own battles, and getting paid for it. 

   _That is assuming they let me in._ She heaved a sigh and pushed the heavy doors open with a creak.    
  
    The inside of the hall was absolute chaos. There was a white-haired older woman filling tankards with mead at the table who smiled at her kindly. Two men, one wiry and ancient, the other middle aged and balding, sat on a bench near the door discussing politics.  There appeared to be a fistfight taking place in the wide open space to the left between an Nord woman and a Dark Elf. The place smelled of ale, sweat, blood, and food. A large crackling fire roared in a hearth that dominated the room, casting a warm orange glow over the ancient wooden fixtures and stone walls. She couldn’t help but smile a bit. The atmosphere reminded her of the Ashlander camps where she had spent her teen years. She watched as the Nord beat the elf into submission. Then the woman stood up, her fierce eyes roaming the room until they landed on Freyja. She dusted off her studded armor and made her way over to the newcomer.  
  
    “Excuse me, but who’s in charge here?” Freyja asked apprehensively. She shifted her weight, and winced as the rough fabric of her tunic rubbed against the raw flesh of her dragon-burned arm.  
  
    The woman sneered and looked her up and down. “What? You think you can just waddle in here and start asking questions?” She removed her helmet, allowing her white-blond hair to fall about her face.  
  
    Freyja knew enough warriors to see the gesture for what it was. The woman was basically saying, “I don’t need my armor. You’re not a threat.” She balled her fists, and was about to let the shrew know just how much of a threat she was, when a she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder.  
  
    “Be nice, Njada. I invited her.” A deep voice rumbled.  
  
    Freyja turned to see the massive Nord she had met in the fields earlier grinnng at her. He had cleaned most of the giant’s gore off, though there was still a spatter of blood on one of his forearms. The warpaint around his cheerful eyes had become a bit smeared in the process as well. The odd combination made him somehow terrifying and adorable at the same time.  
  
    “ _HER?!_ ” Njada’s dark eyes nearly bugged out of her head. “You can’t be serious! She looks like she could barely take on a rabbit!”  
  
    “You didn’t see her in action” Aela countered. The statuesque redhead walked up behind Farkas and smiled at the potential recruit. “She shot a giant in the eye from two fields away!”  
  
    Freyja felt sufficiently vindicated. She turned and glared at the rude Nord woman, who turned on her heel and stormed out the door. On her way, she made sure to bump into Freyja’s arm, causing the burned flesh to peel and bleed again. Freyja stifled a hiss as the pain shot through her and quietly cursed the woman to Oblivion.  
  
    Farkas, clearly having overheard her, snorted. “Glad you decided to join us, sister,” he chuckled, patting the small brunette on the shoulder. “I think I’m going to like you being here. You should meet my twin, Vilkas. He should be around here somewhere. He’s better with people.” He looked around eagerly, hoping to spy his brother in the hall. Freyja looked around as well, but she didn’t see anyone that resembled the brawny brute. Then again, twins didn’t always look alike. Her mother and aunt had been twins, and they had been as different as night and day!  
  
    “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, brother,” Aela cautioned, fighting back a smirk of her own. She took Freyja’s bow and arrows from her and set them near the door. “She still needs to talk to The Harbinger, and pass her test.” She directed Freyja towards the stairs. “Speak to Kodlak Whitemane. He should be down in his quarters.”  
  
    After the ruckus upstairs, the living quarters of Jorrvaskr seemed as quiet as a tomb. The shoes Ralof’s sister had given her made no noise on the stone flooring as she made her way down the hall. She shivered as the cool air wafted over her exposed arms. The lower floor was below ground and so it lacked windows, but someone had made up for it by making sure it was well lit with plenty of candles, lanterns, and chandeliers. The hall had a homey feel to it, despite the stillness.  As she neared the wooden double doors at the end, she heard voices and hesitated. She didn’t want to interrupt anything, and the one of the voices sounded fairly troubled.  
  
    “We’ll talk of that later,” a second, more gravelly voice said. “But now, a stranger comes to our hall.”  
  
    Freyja stepped back, surprised. _How did they know I was out here? There’s no way they could have heard me!_ She knew she was not strong or fast, but she was a damn good sneak!  
  
     The doors swung open to reveal a Nord man scowling down at her. He was tall and lean, with sharp features. His dark brown hair hung just below his strong jawline which sported a few days‘ worth of stubble. Silver grey eyes stood out in sharp contrast to his dark warpaint. He scanned her up and down and, without a word, turned and sat back down at the table. He may have looked like a thinner version of Farkas, but his demeanor couldn’t have been any more different.  
  
    Kodlak Whitemane, Harbinger of the Companions sat at the table in the corner, looking at her oddly. He seemed about to say something, but quickly changed his mind. His beard twitched up to give her a welcoming smile. His long hair was indeed white with two braids framing his craggy face. His eyes, despite their age, were clear, calm and alert as they scanned the new arrival. He was the type of man who could you put you at ease instantly. She could see why he was in charge around here.  
  
    She noticed he had applied his warpaint in the same Nordic spiral as she. The only difference was that hers was permanent. She had the Ashlander wise woman do the design as part of her initiation ceremony when she was fourteen. All Ashlanders took on a tribal brand that marked them as separate from other Dunmer. It was one of the few traditions that had survived when they migrated to the mainland after the Red Year. Freyja had been keen to become a Hearthfriend of the tribe, but didn’t want to forget her roots in Skryim, so she had her brand done in a Nordic spiral pattern on her right cheek. It had faded in the eight years since, and was now just a few shades paler than her fair skin. She saw the old man glance at her cheek and smile.  
  
    Vilkas cleared his throat, and crossed his arms impatiently. His scowl deepened, if that was even possible. Freyja’s resolve wavered under his withering gaze. She had no idea what she had done to offend him so!  
  
    “I’d like to join the Companions.” She announced, sounding more confident than she felt. The young man snorted in disbelief, tossing his hair as he turned to his mentor.  
  
    “Would you now?” Kodlak asked, leaning back in his chair. “Let’s have a look at you.”  
  
    Freyja suddenly felt very self-conscious. Her once lithe form had filled out considerably as she got older, and spending the past four years as a merchant had not helped matters. These days she looked more suited to serve Lady Dibella than Talos or Hircine. Being scrutinized by two muscular, battle-scarred warriors in rather impressive sets of steel armor did not help her confidence. She resisted the temptation to cross her arms. _Musn’t show weakness. You’ve nothing left to lose, so let them look._ She held her head high, and looked the Harbinger straight in the eye.  
  
    “Hm, yes. Perhaps a certain strength of spirit,” the old man mused. His kind eyes twinkled, reminding her of her father. “Tell me, child. What is your name?”  
  
    “Freyja, sir,” she answered politely. She liked the old man already.  
  
    “Master! You cannot truly be considering accepting... her!” Vilkas was confounded.  
  
     Freyja’s eyebrows shot up. _This is supposed to be the twin with the social skills?_ She bit her tongue and forced herself to remain silent.  
  
    “I am nobody’s master, Vilkas,” the old man scolded. “And last I checked, we have have some empty beds in Jorrvaskr for those with a fire burning in their hearts.” He leveled his gaze at the young warrior. Though he denied being the master, there was no doubting his authority.  
  
    Vilkas looked properly chastised, and sat back a bit. “Apologies. But perhaps this isn’t the time,” he said significantly. “Besides, I’ve never even heard of this outsider!”  
  
    Freyja had had enough of his arrogance. “I’ve never heard of you either, but you don’t see me being an ass about it,” she snapped. Much to her satistfaction, the veins in his neck began to throb and he turned slightly purple. She could practically hear him grinding his teeth.  
  
    The Harbinger chuckled warmly. “Easy lad. Sometimes the famous come to us. Sometimes men and women come to us to seek their fame. It makes no difference. What matters is their hearts.”  
  
    “And their arm,” Vilkas muttered. His eyes locked on the raw burn that trailed from Freyja’s shoulder and down her right arm. She looked at him defiantly, flexing her hand in spite of the pain. She saw a dragon and lived to tell about it. She earned her wound and she’d be damned if she was going to be looked down upon because of it!  
  
    “Of course,” Kodlak frowned at the wound. “How are you in battle, my dear?”  
  
    “I can handle myself,” Freyja answered simply. It was no lie. She had been trained by some of the best warriors in Morrowind, as well as her father, who was a gifted hunter. While she was nowhere near as great as her mentors, she was confident she could hold her own.  
  
    The old man nodded. “That may be so. Vilkas here will test your arm.”  
  
    Vilkas looked like he had swallowed a torchbug. Freyja didn’t feel much better about the situation either. Swordplay was not her strong point.  
  
    “Vilkas, take her out into the yard and see what she can do,” Kodlak smiled at his protegé.  
  
    “Aye” Vilkas grunted unhappily. 

* * *

  
    Vilkas waited impatiently at the top of the stairs for the girl to catch up with him. He was furious that Kodlak was making him go through this! Now he’d have to take this wounded little woman out into the yard, and beat her in front of everyone. It was hardly the thing a noble warrior like him should do! A darker part of him did relish in the opportunity to repay her for her flippant attitude, though. She’d learn he was not a someone to be disrespected! He felt his beastblood surge at the opportunity to prove his authority.   
  
 _I am in control of the the blood. It does not control me._ He repeated the mantra in his head, trying to steady his breathing as the fire burned through his veins.  
  
    “Where is your shield?” he growled as the girl walked up to him. She stopped and grabbed a rusty iron sword from its post by the door. Next to it sat a pathetic wooden bow and a beat-up quiver with four iron arrows jutting out of it. “Did you come here totally unprepared?”  
  
    “I don’t have a shield,” her vivid green eyes blazed fiercely as she met his gaze. “All I have is the clothes on my back and the weapons at my side.” Her tone was matter-of-fact. She wasn’t asking for pity, just giving information.  
  
    Still, he felt a pang of sympathy for the girl- Freyja, had she said? _No matter. I’ll likely not see her again._ She had virtually nothing, and now he was about to take her confidence on the battlefield as well. _Why am I always the one who has to destroy the dreams of the hopefuls?_ He looked down at the worn and bleeding woman, and decided he’d at least let her down gently. Sighing, he sheathed his greatsword and grabbed a banded iron shield that was laying nearby. “Come on, whelp.”  
  
    Once in the training yard, he turned and examined his opponent. She was short... almost as short as a Breton, though not as slight. However, she had the high brow, clear eyes, and straight nose of a Nord. She looked strong, but soft. _Very soft._ The dirty rags she was wearing did her no favors, but he could see hints of a substantial bosom. She had a rope tied as a belt around her delicate waist. Her lips were pink and full, and he ignored the urge to nibble them. His beastblood was rapidly changing from bloodlust to just plain lust. His mantra was not helping this time.  
  
    “You ready?” he asked gruffly, hoisting the shield up.  
  
    She looked uncertainly at the sword she gripped in her hand and a stray lock of dark brown hair fell across her face. “I’m really more of an archer...”  
  
    “No excuses!” he barked. “Show me what you can do!” _Best to get it over with quickly and send her on her way._  
  
    He was surprised when she attacked him, wielding the sword in her injured arm. Her blows were quick, if not terribly strong. They were well placed, and he was actually having to work to block her! She landed a particularly good strike on the left side and staggered him. He growled and pushed her back with the shield. She made a strangled noise of pain when the iron connected with her burn, and he felt terrible. She didn’t stop though, so neither did he. He was surprised to find he was actually enjoying sparring with her! He took a beat to shift his foot position. She used the opportunity to toss to her sword to her left hand, and began her attacks anew. These were more wild, and not as fast, but still decent. She fought smart, keeping her right arm tucked to her side to protect her injury from any further impacts with his shield. She turned her wrist and sideswiped him unexpectedly. He stumbled backward as the shield flew from his hand and clattered into the stone steps of the porch.  
  
    “Alright!” he couldn’t help a bit of a chuckle. “That’s enough.” He wasn't often surprised, but this girl was more than he had bargained for!  
  
    She wrung her hand and panted, looking at him like he was insane. She smelled like burnt flesh, blood, dirt, and fire, but under that there was the faintest trace of something like apples mixed with tundra cotton. He noticed her arm bleeding freely where it had connected to the shield. “What happened here?” he asked, taking her hand and carefully stretching out the limb to examine the wound. Her normally pale flesh was livid red and burnt brown, and there were parts where it been scraped away. The wound itself looked angry, with some parts of it swelling and turning a slight purple.      
  
    “A dragon,” she answered, tugging her hand away with a wince.  
  
    His eyes widened. “You... were at Helgen?” They had heard news of the dragon attack yesterday morning. He could still scarcely believe it! Dragons were a thing of legend, and yet standing here before him was proof they existed, in all her charred and bloody glory! He wanted to ask her about the attack. What was it like to face a dragon? There had never been first-hand accounts in any of the myriad of books he had read.  
  
    “Yes. Now, did I pass the test?” she seemed eager to change the subject.  
  
    Vilkas could hear her heart hammering and her eyes had dropped to the ground. An almost imperceptible shudder passed through her body. _It must have been an awful thing to see._ He did not like being denied information, but he decided to let it slide this once. “You’ve passed for now," he admitted. "But you’re still a whelp,” he unsheathed his sword and handed it to her, smirking as the weight caught her off guard and the tip smacked the ground. “Careful!” he snapped. “That thing is worth more than you are, new blood. Take it up to the Skyforge and have Eorlund sharpen it.” She lifted the great steel blade with a grunt.  
  
    He turned away haughtily, but smiled to himself when he saw her scowl out of the corner of his eye. _The girl has fire. She just might make something out of herself._ He continued to watch her in his peripheral vision as she trudged up the stairs to the Skyforge, admiring the way her full hips swayed. He’d better keep a tight reign on himself while she was around, or Athis wouldn’t be the only master of a one-handed skill! He made his way down into the living quarters and found Tilma putting Freyja’s little bow and arrows on a bed in the corner.  
  
    “How did it go?” she asked, smoothing out the wrinkles in the green woolen blanket.  
  
    “She’s got some skill with the blade,” he admitted, leaning against the door frame. “She needs to work on her stamina and strengthening her off hand, but there’s potential.”  
  
    “‘Potential’ eh?” the old woman said with a knowing smile. She turned to raise an eyebrow at the young man she had practically raised. There was no fooling her.  
  
    Vilkas allowed himself a grin. “Aye.”  
  
    “And did you show any ‘potential’ as well, or were you your usual charming self?” she asked as she turned and began fluffing the pillow on the bed.  
  
    “Well, I... um....” he rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. Farkas may have credited him as having the better social skills of the pair, but no one else ever did!  
  
    “Ah, I thought so,” Tilma clucked disapprovingly. Vilkas thought of all the nights he had stayed in knitting with her, while his brother went out with a girl. Vilkas had had women in the past, more than he cared to admit. Unfortunately, it never seemed to take very long for him to drive them away with his surly attitude. At thirty four, he was starting to give up hope that he’d ever settle down.  
  
    Vilkas straightened up and cleared his throat, pushing his worries to the back of his mind. “The New Blood will need a hot bath and some fresh clothes,” he instructed Tilma. “And her arm needs tending to,” he added. Burns could be nasty if not treated properly. “I’ve got some healing potions in my room. I’ll set them out for you to give to her.” He paused. “Only, don’t tell her they’re from me. We don’t want any her thinking I’m going to coddle her.” She was still a whelp after all, and he was her trainer, not her nursemaid!  
  
    “Of course,” she smiled, patting him on the chest as she passed through the door. “The great an mighty Vilkas would NEVER stoop so low as to help a lowly new blood.” She cackled as she made her way through the rough wooden door and up the stairs to the main floor.  
  
    Vilkas grinned and made his way to his room. He peeled off his armor and flopped down in bed. He hadn’t slept at all the night before, and was starting to feel the effects. As he drifted off, he allowed himself to smile. First dragons and now a pretty new whelp to boss around. Things were definitely getting interesting around here!  
   


	2. A Quiet Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you like domestic coziness, here you go!

    “Promise not to tell anyone, Freyja?” Farkas rumbled, as he and the newest whelp trudged down the mountain path toward Whiterun.  
  
    Freyja looked back over her shoulder at the big Nord. “It’s going be kind of hard to hide it, Farkas,” she said. His eye was purple and swollen shut, and his nose was still seeping blood. “Everyone knows you went to settle a score with Faendal.”  
  
    Her shield brother looked down at her forlornly. “I just don’t want them teasing me about getting beat up by a wood elf.” His lower lip stuck out, and she felt her heart twist with pity. “Maybe we could tell them you fought Faendal, and I cleared out the bandits instead?” he asked hopefully. A blue butterfly fluttered past him on the warm summer breeze.   
  
    Freyja frowned. _I worked damn hard to kill all those bandits_! “Do you really want to lie?” she asked, hoping the warrior’s honor would get the best of him. She stumbled slightly along the rocky road and turned her attention forward to watch where she was going.   
  
    “I guess not,” he admitted.   
  
    They turned the corner and headed down the main road towards the city. The scent of honey wafted from Honningbrew meadery, and Freyja looked up, half-expecting to see Torvar headed down to sample the stock.  
  
     “Don’t worry Farkas, I won’t let them tease you too much.” she joked. She had only been in Skyrim a month, but the silhouette of Dragonsreach already filled her with a sense of homecoming as it loomed upon the horizon. She smiled, and slung her bow over her shoulder. They were much less likely to be attacked by a wild animal now that they were closing in on the city.   
  
    They continued the rest of their journey in silence. Stopping at the stables, Freyja gave some old apples she found at the bandit’s camp in Embershard Mine to the horses. _No sense in letting them go to waste,_ she thought, as a big black mare munched happily in front of her. She pet the creature’s nose and told herself she’d buy her when she could afford it.   
  
    “Gnyuh” Farkas grunted through his broken nose, sitting down heavily on a barrel. She turned and looked at him sympathetically. He stared at the ceiling with watering eyes as he held a bloody handkerchief to his face.  
  
    “Alright, big guy. We’ll make one quick stop and then head back home,” she patted him on the shoulder as she struck out for the road.   
  
    He followed obediently, his steel armor clanking along. Freyja’s archery skill had kept her out of reach of most enemies, whereas poor Farkas had to plunge right into the battle. He had taken a few bad licks from the bandits even before he fought the wood elf, and so he ended up in much worse shape than his shield sister.  
  
    With a quick pop-in at Arcadia’s Cauldron, Freyja traded some potions she found for a few ingredients. She couldn’t afford the frost salts she really needed, but she could make do with ice wraith teeth. She also stopped at Carlotta’s and bought a sweetroll for Farkas. He had been so patient after all. She found she really liked traveling with him. He was so much more cheerful and obliging than his brother, even if he was somewhat slower. Thankfully, they were bashing skulls in, not mixing potions, so intelligence wasn’t really a necessity!  
  
     Vilkas was sitting in a chair, reading a book and munching on a sweetroll of his own, when the pair walked in and Farkas plunked down on a nearby bench with a groan. His alarm for his brother sent both the book and the pastry flying. “What happened?” he barked, striding up to Freyja. “You are supposed to watch your sheild-brother’s back!”  
  
    “S’not her fault, Vil” Farkas mumbled, tilting his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I underestimated the wood elf is all. He was damned quick.”   
  
    Vilkas‘s dark brows drew together. “A Bosmer did this to you? Ysmir’s beard, Farkie! Did you let the blacksmith’s daughter get a shot in too?”  
  
    “Hey!” Freyja snapped. “Your brother put up a good fight, and won in the end! Faendal will be lucky if he’s up and about before the week’s done. You should give him a break!” She didn’t like seeing that vicious side of Vilkas, especially toward his brother.   
  
    He spun to face her. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child, whelp!” he growled. His cold eyes flashed menacingly.   
  
    “Then stop acting like one and go get me a mortar and pestle,” she asserted as she opened the satchel from Arcadia’s. _This isn’t the training yard. He’s not in charge here._  
  
    Vilkas stood frozen in place. She turned her green eyes upon him cooly. “Something wrong?”  
  
    With a mighty snarl, he spun on his heel and stomped downstairs, slamming the door behind him. The weapons on the wall rattled. Freyja rolled her eyes. _Does he always have to throw such a fit?_  
  
    “Thanks,” Farkas rolled his eyes at his brother's dramatic behavior. “You didn’t have to defend me like that.” He smiled up at her, through the blood covering his face.   
  
    She pulled out a clean handkerchief, and pouring some water from a nearby pitcher on it, began to clean the blood off. Farkas's nose was most definitely broken, and he had a nasty split on his brow, but didn’t seem to be too seriously hurt. “Vilkas knows better,” she explained. “He shouldn’t be making fun of you when you’re hurt, no matter how you got in that state. He’s a more honorable man than that.”  
  
     A throat cleared itself behind her and she turned. “Here,” Vilkas said gruffly, handing her a small marble motar and pestle set. He looked away awkwardly.  
  
    “Oh! Er... thank you!” Freyja blushed, wondering how much of the exchange he had overheard.   
  
    He gave a brief nod, and went back to his chair, picking up the book he had been reading when they walked in. Freyja watched him for a moment. He peeked at her briefly over the top of his book, but quickly scowled and went back to focusing intently on the page.   
  
    Freyja sighed. _I suppose you just can’t win with some people!_ She emptied the contents of her little satchel onto the table. Stripping the snowberries off their stalk, she plopped them back into the empty satchel and dropped the ice wraith teeth into the mortar. She ground them up into a coarse powder and dumped them in the little bag on top of the berries. After tying the top tightly with a bit of string, she placed the icy packet on Farkas’s swollen eye.   
  
    “Hey! That feels good!” he exclaimed.   
  
    “A little trick my father taught me,” she smiled sadly, handing him a healing potion. “Now drink this.”      
  
    He made a face. “I don’t like these. They taste like salt and dirt and burnt hair.”   
  
    “How do you know what burnt hair tastes like?” Vilkas quipped, turning a page in his book.   
  
    “Well, it tastes the way burnt hair smells,” his brother clarified. He turned back to Freyja, "I'll heal up fine without it. Just takes longer."  
  
    “Tell you what,” Freyja said, bending down a bit to make eye contact with the big Nord. “If you drink this, I’ll get you a bottle of mead. Then I’ll make a batch of my famous maple sweetrolls for dessert tonight.”   
  
    Farkas’s eyes twinkled. “You got a deal, sister!” He chugged the little vial with a grimace. There was a loud SNAP! as his nose realigned itself. The cut on his brow closed for the most part, and the swelling in his eye looked much better. He yawned and Freyja shoved a bottle of mead in his outstretched hand. She knew even the smaller healing magics still took a lot of energy out of the body. The magic may be prompting things along, but it was still the bones and muscles and blood vessels doing all the work. She gave a slight nod down toward the living quarters and Farkas yawned again. He smiled at the whelp and gave her a bone cracking hug before trudging downstairs.   
  
    Freyja sighed and turned to her trainer. “I hope you’ve got my cut of the reward for those bandits. It seems I now need to go buy sweetroll ingredients.” She had been hoping to get some new bracers, but she figured she could make do with her rough leather ones for a little while longer.   
  
    Vilkas looked up from his book, which Freyja saw was titled Physicalities of Werewolves. “I’ll go with you,” he offered. He shut the book, giving it a disgusted look. “I need some fresh air to clear my head.”   
  
    Freyja was surprised. “Okay.” She hoped Vilkas wasn’t going to try to teach her how to negotiate or anything. He may be a great warrior, but she had been a shopkeep in the Imperial City! Purchasing supplies was the one thing she was fairly sure she outranked him on. “Come on then. I suppose I can use you to carry the heaver items." Alright, she may still be frustrated with his earlier attitude.  
  
    “Ha.” he said sarcastically, as he tossed her the little bag containing her earnings.  He opened the door for her. “Just watch yourself, little whelp. Or I’ll make you carry the sacks of flour yourself!”   
  


* * *

  
    _“Oh come on, Freyja! Come and dance with me!” Frigga giggled. She twirled in the grass, the breeze lifting her skirts. Her skin remained pale despite the years they had spent living in the wilds of Morrowind. Her eyes shone a deep dark green, as her long brunette hair fluttered around her face in wispy tendrils._  
 _“I’m perfectly fine here,” the older sister said, blending a bit of charcoal to shade the tree she was sketching._  
 _“Go dance with her,” Zinnat’s deep rich voice rumbled next to her. “She won’t leave us alone until you do.” He nudged her encouragingly with his shoulder. “And I do so love to be alone with you.”_  
 _She looked up into his brilliant ruby eyes and felt her resolve weaken. She could never say no to him. “Alright,” she sighed. “But you owe me.”_  
 _He gave her a sweet, gentle kiss, cupping her head in his big gray hand. “I’ll be sure to make it up to you,” he grinned. “Now go!”  He stood up and walked away._  
 _Freyja walked into the meadow. Her parents stood with her sister now. They all smiled at her kindly. Her dad’s blue eyes twinkled and her mother’s long dark hair rippled in the breeze._  
 _“Come and dance, Freyja! Don’t look so sad!” Frigga called in a sing-song voice. She began to twirl around the meadow, her lithe body twisting more gracefully than Freyja could ever hope to._  
 _Suddenly, the scene flickered like a flame. Her family was before her in the beautiful meadow, but this time they were horribly changed. Her father lay on the ground, his entrails spread all around him as he gasped for breath. Mother was curled up beside him, hugging her knees as coughing wracked her emaciated frame. Frigga continued to dance, giggling shrilly. As she turned, half of her face was caved in, leaving nothing but a bloody mess._  
 _“Come and dance Freyja!” the little girl screamed._   
  


* * *

  
    Vilkas heard the door to the living quarters slam open and a small form came darting up the stairs. The now-familiar scent of apples mixed with cotton told him it was Freyja, even before she emerged into the light. The glow from the hearth fire shone through her simple linen nightgown, giving him a lovely silhouette of the luscious body beneath. She hugged her arms around her chest and shook. Ripping his gaze from her body, he looked up at her face. She was pale, and tears were running down her cheeks. The panic so evident in her features shocked him out of his usual gruff demeanor. He stood up, gathering the little woman into his arms.   
  
    “Bad dream?” he asked. He sounded much calmer than he felt as her warm body pressed against his.   
  
    “You could say that,” she sniffled, burying her face in the linen of her shirt.   
  
     “Must have been quite a nightmare to rattle you.” In the weeks he had known her, she had seemed so hard and strong. _Sometimes, she’s downright cold._ However, there had been little moments where she thought no one was watching, and he would catch a glimpse of something dark haunting her eyes, but that was a common occurrence in their line of work. Warriors rarely led happy lives.   
  
    This, though... such raw agony and terror on display... that wasn’t something he was used to. Feeling more human than he had in a long time, he gently stroked away a tear with his calloused thumb.   
  
    She shuddered in response. Seeming to remember herself, she pulled away from him, looking away in embarrassment.   
  
    Fighting back disappointment, he noted the dark circles under her bloodshot eyes “You’re exhausted. Do you have nightmares every night?”  
  
    “Most,” she confessed, turning towards the hearth. “I usually just lay in the dark until I drift off again, but tonight...” she shook again. “I don’t think I’ll be sleeping anytime soon.” She reached up and twirled the end of her braid around her fingers nervously, biting her lip.  
  
    Vilkas felt a bit helpless. He was the last person in the world who could help when it came to calming a troubled mind. His own mind, as well as the beastblood, kept him up most nights. He did sometimes find reading to help, though. His theory was that it forced him to focus his thoughts into one linear coherent path, rather than the chaos that usually reigned in his head. The little bit he knew of Freyja told him that she was probably similar to him in that aspect.  _If nothing else,_ his mind chimed in unhelpfully.   
  
    “Care to join me?” he asked, gesturing toward the stack of books next to his bench. “If we’re both going to be up, I might as well make us some tea.” He watched as the linen-clad little Nord walked over and began thumbing through his literary selection, curious as to what she would pick out. He was surprised when she chose _Nerevar Moon-and-Star_ and settled down on the bench. “Interested in the old Ashlander prophesies?” he asked, ladling some hot water from a kettle into two mugs.   
  
    “I spent my teen years with them,” she explained, with a hint of nostalgia in her tone. "My dad was a hunter, and wanted our family to get away from the war. In his travels, he met an Ashkhan who was open to welcoming outlanders, so long as they could help provide for his people. So, he packed up our family and moved to Morrowind," she shrugged. "It was a good fit, I suppose."   
  
    Vilkas frowned in confusion as he plopped the dried flowers and leaves into the cups. “I thought the Ashlanders were destroyed when the Red Mountain erupted?”   
  
    She shook her head, “Many were, and the land was destroyed, but some of the tribes further out were able to flee. Thank you,” she added as he handed her the steaming mug. “Anyway, most went to Solthstheim. The ones left on the mainland were so few, and they hand only a handful of surviving guar between them, that they were forced to join up and become one tribe. They simply call themselves The Ashlanders these days, in honor of their lost home.”

     Vilkas felt a surge of satisfaction as Freyja talked. Her trembling subsided, and the tension left her shoulders. He had successfully distracted her from whatever horrors had plagued her.

     She took a sip of the warm liquid. “What’s in this?”    
  
    “Blue mountain flower, honey, a bit of cinnamon, and some ground cannis root,” Vilkas answered, taking a slurp of his own.   
  
    “Cannis root?” she cocked her head to the side inquisitively, and he wanted to brush back the curl that had worked it’s way loose and fallen against her cheek.   
  
    “Aye. Drains the stamina, which I find makes getting to sleep much easier,” he explained. _Gods, I hope the poor girl doesn’t think I’ve poisoned her. Maybe I should have told her first._  
  
    “Hmm...” she took another sip, and he sighed inwardly with relief. “I never would have thought of that. Very clever.” The fire from the hearth danced in her eyes as she looked up at him with something like approval.  
  
    He felt his face heat up and turned away, burying his nose in a book. There was a soft sigh next to him and he thought he saw her shake her head slightly out of the corner of his eye. He frowned. Did he disappoint her somehow? Was she looking for a different reaction from him? He hadn’t exactly been hiding his attraction towards her, but that didn’t mean he had been open about it either. He glanced at her, wondering if she though he was handsome. With someone as private as her, it was hard to tell. She had begun to read her book. Her smooth brow was furrowed slightly, and she bit her full pink lip in concentration. _Perhaps I will be a little more open about my desires,_ he thought. _The worst that could happen is she would reject me. I’ve weathered tougher storms than that._   
  
    Freyja set her empty mug on the barrel next to them that doubled as a side table. She yawned, and leaned against Vilkas. “The Nerevarine never told me any of this,” she mumbled, picking up the book again.   
  
    Vilkas choked on his tea. “You know the Nerevarine?” He had always thought the legend of the savior of Vvardenfell was just that, a legend.  
  
    Freyja nodded. “She would visit the tribe from time to time. She never stays in one place very long because she wants to keep away from the Thalmor. They’d never know who she was unless someone told them though.” She yawned again. “She looks just like any other young Dunmer woman.”   
  
    Vilkas was amazed. Not only was the Nerevarine legend true, but she was still walking around to this day, and the woman at his side had actually met her! He had always been fascinated by the heroes of old. As a boy he and Farkas had always pretended to be great warriors in the company of Ysgramor, the Nerevarine, or one of the mighty Dovahkiin of legend. He turned to ask Freyja more.  
  
    She had fallen asleep.  
      
    He watched her, entranced, for a while. Her brow knit together and she whimpered as another nightmare took hold. He pulled her closer and put an arm around her. Sighing contentedly, her face relaxed as she snuggled into his side. His inner wolf growled in happiness, before crawling back into a more dormant state. Perhaps he would get some sleep tonight after all.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took a while. I've been under the weather. That being said, let me know if you notice any errors or typos that my NyQuil added brain may have overlooked.


	3. You're a Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vilkas is feeling a bit frisky and decides to play a game with the new whelp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vilkas does get a bit predatory and threatening in this chapter. So if you're sensitive to situations like that, please feel free to skip this one. I can totally recap in the notes for the next chapter!

    She would kill them all. Every last one.   
  
    “What’s wrong, New Blood? Can’t keep up?”   
  
   _Especially Vilkas._  
  
    Freyja bent over, hands on her knees and tried to catch her breath. If she had known The Companions did so much running, she would have joined the damned mages instead! Her fellow whelps were all waiting up the road. They were barely sweating even though the late summer sun beat down upon them. Vilkas, the tallest of the group, looked down at her with a scowl.   
  
    “Alright, everybody. Head on back to the mead hall... except you.” He gestured to Freyja and his eyes narrowed to slits.   
  
    “Uh oh...” Athis teased.   
  
    “Well keep dinner warm for you two!” Njada laughed over her shoulder as she jogged towards the city gates.  
  
    “Ha... ha!” Freyja panted sarcastically, clutching a stitch in her side. It was still mid-morning. For Azura’s sake, she wasn’t THAT slow!   
  
    Vilkas looked very much like an angry teacher as he walked toward her. Freyja straightened up and tried to even out her heavy breathing. “I see now why you stay in such good shape!” She hoped appealing to his vanity would soften him up a bit.   
  
    He crossed his arms, making his pectoral muscles twitch appetizingly. “That makes one of us,” he clucked his tongue.   
  
    Her face heated up. “Farkas said you found me pretty?” she quipped, arching an eyebrow.  
  
    Vilkas pinched the bridge of his nose and growled. He swore under his breath before taking a deep, steadying breath and meeting her gaze.  “Pretty won’t keep you alive, little whelp.” He began to circle around her. “Just what were you doing with yourself before you came to our wild homeland?”  
  
    She swallowed nervously. His scrutiny and aggresive body language were putting her on edge. “I was running a shop.”   
  
    “Really?” he sounded intrigued and the air of danger about him dissipated. “What kind of shop?”   
  
    “Supplies for hunters and adventurers.” She elaborated, “Foodstuffs, weapons- mostly for archers-, restorative potions... things like that.” _Please don't ask me any more._  
  
    “I see.” He resumed his pacing around her, scanning her up and down. “And did you make these supplies yourself?”   
  
    “For the most part. Some of the more complex potions I got from the alchemist, and the smith provided the heavier weapons and armors.” Why on earth was he interrogating her? He’d have to be deaf not to hear the reluctance in her voice. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, feeling edgy. These days she preferred to live in the moment, and try to forget the past. _Gods! why does such a handsome man have to be so infuriating?_ Even whilst wanting to throttle him, she couldn’t help but gaze at his toned body which shone with a light sheen of sweat from his run. The residual moisture in the air from yesterday’s storm made his dark hair curl slightly, and her throughts changed from wrapping her fingers around his neck to running them through his long locks.   
  
    “So, my little shopkeep,” he said, coming to rest in front of her. “Just what would you do if a pack of wolves started chasing you?”  
  
    “I’d stab them in the heart,” she answered without hesitation. _I’m more than just a shopkeep, damn it._   
  
    “Ah,” he smirked. “But what if you had no blade?” suddenly his hand shot out and he whipped her dagger off her belt.   
  
    “I’d... uh...” her mind stalled. He looked so enticing, with his cocky smirk and a mischievous glint in his eye. It was like the look Farkas sometimes gave her, only ten times better because she was unused to seeing such playfulness from the normally stern twin.  
  
    “New exercise!” Vilkas announced, circling around again to stand behind her. "You have to be able outrun your foes as well as slaughter them." Suddenly, she felt his hot breath on the back of her neck. “I’m the wolf, and you’re the prey,” He whispered in her ear. “Now run, little rabbit.”  
  
    “What?” Her heart was thundering in her ears, even as a smile tugged at the corners of her lips.   
  
    “Run.” He growled.   
  
    _Eeep!_ She started to jog away from him. After a few paces, she looked back.   
  
    He grinned and started after her.   
  
    “Oh shit!” she yelped, picking up her pace. She heard him laugh and quicken his pace as well.   
  
    Soon she was sprinting down the road for all she was worth! Her stubby little legs had to pump at double time to match his long strides. Even then, he was quickly gaining on her! She thought maybe she could lose him on the rougher ground and left the road, cutting across the plains. She had grown up hunting the wilds of Skyrim and Morrowind. Surely, if she could track a nix hound, she could outrun Vilkas!   
  
    She was clearly mistaken, for he loped over the uneven ground without missing a step. He was far more agile than she had anticipated.   
  
    She let out an undignified squawk as he caught her in his arms. They fell in the soft grass, both laughing as she landed on top of him.   
  
    “I win!” he said smugly. His arms were still wrapped around her, and she could see his pulse pounding in his neck.   
  
    “Please, my noble wolf. Don’t kill me!” she teased. Her chest was heaving after the exertion, though she noticed with a hint of satisfaction that his was too. At least she had given him a bit of a challenge.  
  
    Vilkas chuckled. “Oh, don’t you worry, little rabbit...” he ran his fingers playfully down her lower back, eliciting a shudder. “I would never hurt a cute little thing like yourself... unless you asked me to.” His gaze turned darker, more intense as he continued to stroke her lower back.  
  
    Freyja licked her lips, and reached up, finally running her hand through his thick hair. It was unbelievably soft as it slipped through her fingers.  
  
    Vilkas closed his eyes and let out a small little growl of pleasure... sounding very much like a wolf. He lifted his head ever so slightly towards hers, and their lips parted...  
  
    “Hello,” a deep voice boomed cheerily above them.   
  
    Vilkas groaned and let his head flop back down on the ground. Freyja looked up to see Farkas silhouetted by the late morning sun. Scrambling off his brother, she quickly brushed the sticky bits of grass from her clothing.   
  
    “We were just... uh... training!” She said quickly. _Oh gods how much did he hear?_  
  
    “Training. Sure.” Farkas didn’t even bother to hide his grin. He hitched his thumbs in his belt, looking absolutely satisfied with himself.   
  
    Vilkas still lay in the grass with his eyes closed. “Is there something we can help you with, brother?” He sounded less than thrilled with the interruption.  
  
    “Oh, that's right! Freyja...” Farkas said, looking from his brother to the new blood. “Farengar, wants to speak to you whenever you get a chance.”  
  
    Freyja re-pinned the dark braids to the back of her head. They had come loose during the chase. “Did he say what it was about?” She couldn’t imagine what the Jarl’s wizard would want from her.   
  
    Farkas blushed. “I didn’t think to ask,” he said apologetically. “He didn’t seem too insistent though. Probably some side job.” His armor clanked as he gave a little shrug.  
  
    Vilkas opened one eye to squint up at his twin. “Thank you, brother. That absolutely could not have waited till we returned!” His voice dripped sarcasm.  
  
    “I was bored.” Farkas grinned, clearly enjoying his brother’s torment.   
  
    Vilkas sighed and rose to his feat begrudgingly. He glared at Farkas while he brushed his pants free of dirt and debris.  
  
    “Well,” Freyja said awkwardly, “I suppose I should go get cleaned up and head to Dragonsreach then.”   
  
    “Yes,” Vilkas growled through clenched teeth. “I suppose so.” He scowled and began tromping across the plain toward the city gates, leaving his amused brother and his equally frustrated companion to catch up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for being patient with this update. We had some family drama and I was sick the past couple weeks. Thankfully, things seemed to have calmed down so updating shall resume a regular schedule!


	4. Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freyja is having a bad day, and Vilkas is at a loss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any who skipped the last chapter: Vilkas and Freyja had a flirty little chase and tumble in the grass, Farkas ruined everything, and Freyja got a summons to Dragonsreach from Farengar.

      The great doors of Jorrvaskr creaked open, bringing a mercifully cool draft into the stuffy mead hall. It was followed with a scent of sour sweat and mead.  

      “What is it, Torvar?” Vilkas sighed, turning a page in his book.

       Torvar cleared his throat, and Vilkas glanced up reluctantly with a furrowed brow. The hungover Nord stood before him, dripping all over the floor Tilma had just finished cleaning.

       “Didn’t I tell you to train with the New Blood?” Vilkas scowled.

      The wiry blond shrugged. “Yeah, but she won’t train!” he whined.

      “That doesn’t sound like her,” Tilma offered, coming over to shoo Torvar over near the hearth. “Freyja’s not the type to idle about.” She dropped some rags down in the puddle Torvar had made and cautiously got down on her hands and knees to clean the mess.

      “Well... I think I may have set her off, but I don’t know how!” Torvar admitted, rubbing his hands together over the fire for warmth.

      Vilkas pinched the bridge of his nose. Torvar was not known for his way with words. “What _exactly_ did you say?”

      The warrior sat in a nearby chair with a _squelch_ and Tilma huffed in exasperation. “Well, we were sparring, and everything was going just fine. She was telling me how that wizard wanted her to go to Bleak Falls Barrow.” He shrugged, and water droplets splattered on the floor beneath him. “I said I’d rather jump off the great porch than face all the draugr in that place.”

      Vilkas set aside his book. “What else?” he asked, crossing his arms. Torvar’s comments had been rude and less than encouraging, but nothing particularly insulting.

      “And nothing!” he answered, exasperated. He wrung the water out of his bushy beard, earning him a glare from Tilma, who was struggling to stand. “She just threw down her sword and walked away! Wouldn’t even look at me!”

      Vilkas frowned, getting to his feet. He walked over and gave Tilma a hand up. Kodlak and the other circle members had been trying to convince her to take on some help, but she wouldn’t hear of it. At least Freyja had taken up some of the cooking duties, and that had been working out rather well, if his tighter belt was anything to go by. Getting back to the task at hand, he glared at Torvar. “Fine, I’ll go talk to her. But you-” he leveled a finger at the whelp. “You are going to get dried up and help Tilma clean up your mess.”

      “Alright,” Torvar groaned. “But then I’m headed down to the meadery for the rest of the day. Gonna need a drink to settle my nerves after all of this.”

      Vilkas growled in frustration. _Why in the world am I the one Kodlak chose to be in charge of the whelps?_ he thought as he emerged into the training yard. _Surely Farkas would be more suited to putting up with all of this! I’m running out of patience._

      Freyja stood in the rain, punching the rough, wooden practice dummy near the wall. It was clear hand-to-hand was not her strong suit. It was muted by the rain, but Vilkas could smell her signature apples-and-cotton scent that he so loved. He could also smell blood. _Gods, I hope Torvar didn’t hurt her._ He shook his head. That was no way to be thinking in the Companions. He couldn’t allow himself to go soft over the whelp just because he felt protective.

      “What are you doing?” Vilkas yelled across the courtyard.

      “Nothing!” Freyja hiccuped. The late summer rain was pouring down, trickling over her studded leather armor as she continued to land blow after blow upon the poor wooden mannequin. She drew back a fist and Vilkas saw a smear of crimson before she landed a punch with a resounding _CRACK!_

      In the blink of an eye, he was there, grabbing her wrist. “Stop!” he ordered sternly. He put his other arm around her waist, and pulled her backward out of striking range of the dummy.

      “No! Don’t touch me!” she growled. She wrenched herself free and stumbled away.  

      He felt a prickle of concern. _She’s as wild as the beastblood! What on earth has gotten into her?_ He reached out, tentatively, and turned her around. Even in the rain, he could tell she had been weeping.  
     

      “What did Torvar say to upset you so?” he questioned as he brushed a thumb across her exposed neck. He could feel her pulse fluttering like a frightened bird. Never had he seen her so out of control. 

      “It was nothing,” she sniffled, before stepping back and resuming her abuse of the practice dummy.

      “It wasn’t ‘nothing,’” he argued. Over the past few weeks, they had been making a habit of reading together in the mead hall when they couldn’t sleep. He had gotten used to seeing her on edge. Most of the time she brushed it off, though on the worst nights she accepted his arm around her while they sat quietly by the hearth. Even then, he had never seen her panic like this.

      “I’m fine!” She insisted, landing a particularly fierce blow on the mannequin. Vilkas heard a crunching sound as blood splattered on the wood.

      “You’re not!” His hand shot out and blocked her next punch. Hot blood oozed through his fingers. “What is wrong?” he asked softly.

      “Nothing,” she repeated.

      “Don’t lie to me,” he growled through clenched teeth. He was suddenly angry at her. For not trusting him. For hurting herself. _Why can’t she just relax and talk to someone?_ He felt helpless.

      Freyja swallowed nervously and took a deep breath. However, instead of talking she let out a sigh and shook her head. "It's fine. Really. It doesn't matter."  
  
      Vilkas watched the fire in her eyes fade. The wildness fled her body, leaving her looking weary and drained. 

      Seeing her give up so easily made him even angrier. “Fine then” he huffed as he dropped her hand. “You don’t have to tell me. But you’d better deal with whatever it is and get yourself under control,” he growled, stepping close. “I can’t have you falling apart in the field. It might not be your blood spilled next time, but your shield-sibling’s. I won’t allow that, understand?”

      She nodded obediently and hung her head. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I wasn’t always like this. I don’t...” her voice broke. She closed her eyes and breathed deep. 

      Vilkas cleared his throat. “It’s alright, little one. We all have rough days. Now,” he took her hand and examined the wounds gingerly. Her knuckles were torn and swollen. Thankfully, none appeared to be broken. “Come inside and dry off. I’m sure with some rest and a healing potion you’ll feel much better.”

      She quickly pulled her hands out of his, and his heart sank. “I should probably head out,” she said, looking up at the dark and rumbling clouds. “Farengar will be wanting that Dragon Stone.”

      “Are you sure, New Blood? Bleak Falls is a dangerous place,” he asked nervously. “I’d hate if something happened to you in there.” It wasn’t an official Comanions job, so there would be no coin and no reason for her to take a shield-brother. He still felt uneasy about letting her go alone, though.

      “Don’t worry about me,” she said flatly. “Whatever happens, happens.”

      Vilkas frowned. Her wording, combined with the way she was acting was definitely cause for concern.

      “Skjor and Aela will be back from their hunt tomorrow,” he said, trying again. “If you just wait, they can take over here and I can go with you.”

      Shaking her head, she walked over to the porch and took up her iron sword and old wooden bow.

      With a sinking feeling, Vilkas watched her adjust her ill fitting armor and place a few crusts of bread and a bottle of mead in a small pack. Noting the state of disrepair her weapons were in, he followed her. “Take this,” he ordered, holding out a Skyforge steel dagger. “Just in case.”

      Freyja smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you. Really, don’t worry.” She shrugged her pack over her shoulders and looked up at him. “Besides, what is the worst that could happen?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, what indeed? *evil laugh*


	5. Shelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freyja ran off in search of a Dragonstone... really what's the worst that could happen? Certainly nothing life-changing... right?

      _“DOVAHKIIN!”_

      The earth shook and Freyja fell, along with the guard who had been supporting her. She braced her palms against the rough stones of the road and squinted up at the bright morning sky where the voice had come from.

     “What in Azura’s name was that?” she grunted, trying unsuccessfully to stand up.

     “It’s the Greybeards,” the little guard explained, helping her to her feet. Her leg gave out under the weight, and she bit her lip to keep from screaming. The guard was still talking. “They’re summoning the Dragonborn to High Hrothgar.” He put his arm around her and started helping her toward the city gates, leaving a trail of blood in their wake.

     “Well, they can wait. I just want to get back to Jorrvaskr.” Her head felt like it was going to split open, and her leg was torn up pretty badly. There was no way she was going anywhere anytime soon. She never asked to be the Dragonborn. _Whatever that is._ She needed a minute to sort out her thoughts before she started following mystical disembodied voices!

     “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the temple?” The guard asked with concern. He was nearly as small as Freyja, and was putting forth a valiant effort of dragging her along. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why one of the other strapping lads standing around hadn’t offered to carry her. Maybe they were just as terrified as she was when that dragon’s soul went rushing into her.

     “Just take me back home,” she mumbled as they trudged through the city gates. She was losing too much blood, and had used all her healing potions while trekking through Bleak Falls Barrow. _Damn that Farengar,_ she thought _. If he hadn’t sent me after that blasted stone, none of this would have happened. All I wanted was a simple life, and now_... she cried out as her leg buckled again. She was weak, and cold. Jorrvaskr looked so far away. _Maybe I’ll just bleed to death, and they can find someone else to fight their damned dragons for them!_

     The guard was saying something to her. His tone sounded encouraging, but she couldn’t make herself focus. Her head lolled to the side, and it was all she could do to keep her one good leg moving. Suddenly, she was enveloped by warmth and the smell of a good stew cooking. The brightness of the morning transformed into darkness, and the blinding pain in her head lessened just a bit. She heard the crackling of a fire and someone shouting. Strong arms were lowering her to the ground. She sat on the smooth wooden floor in a daze, blood pooling around her.

     “Look at me!” a voice demanded. She blinked tiredly and Vilkas came into focus. His face was uncharacteristically clean. _He must have just woken up_. His icy blue eyes locked onto Freyja’s mossy green ones. “Stay with me, little one.” He said quietly as he cupped her head in his hands.

     Freyja could feel movement and looked past Vilkas to see Njada pulling the ruined leather greaves off of her. She heard gasps all around when the damage was revealed. Her thigh was slashed from hip to knee, almost all the way to the bone. She was glad she had been able to cast that quick healing spell before the dragon soul hit her. It was probably the only reason she hadn’t bled out already.

     Njada quickly produced a tourniquet and wrapped it around Freyja’s leg. “Ria! Get healing potions NOW!” she ordered. She twisted the stick, tightening the bandage and cutting off the blood flow to the wound. “It’s good you have thick thighs, New Blood. That wound would have carved clean through a thinner leg.”

     “I’m cold” Freyja managed. Her head felt like it was going to burst. _I don’t think it’s meant to hold a dragon soul... it’s too much._ Her eyelids fluttered, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up and go to sleep. If only her damned head would stop throbbing. She sunk to the floor, but Vilkas caught her in his warm hands and held her back up.

     “No you don’t,” he murmured.

     “She’s going into shock, Vilkas!” Njada snapped, as she used a wet rag to try to clean out the wound a bit. If it healed while dirty it was liable to get infected.

     “I know that, Njada!” he gestured to Tilma, and she wrapped a blanket around the little whelp. “What happened?” he demanded.

     Freyja wanted to tell him the whole story, but that seemed like such a daunting task. Instead, she summarized. “The draugr... and then there was a dragon... and fuck Farengar!” she mumbled, laying her head on his shoulder. He was solid and warm.

     Njada was confused. “Did she say she fucked the wizard?”

     Vilkas looked up bewilderedly at the guard, clearly searching for a more coherent explanation.

     “I don’t know anything about that. And I didn’t see any draugr, though I heard one of the guards mention she had come from Bleak Falls Barrow, so maybe that’s what she’s talking about,” the little man shrugged. His voice sounded odd and tinny as it emanated from his helmet. “All I know is she was up at Dragonsreach, when we got word that a dragon was attacking the Western Watchtower. She came down with Irileth, and helped us fight. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

     “A dragon?” Vilkas asked hoarsely. All the blood drained from his face and his grip on Freyja tightened a bit. “Here?”

     “Aye,” the guard nodded. “We managed to take it down, but then we ran out of arrows, and it was advancing on us. This little lady snuck up, and plunged her sword through it’s throat.” He shook his head. “She was amazing! One minute there was nothing and then there she was, slashing open it’s neck right before it could burn us all alive.” He placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. “As the creature died, it flailed around, and one of it’s claws caught her leg. Blood was spraying everywhere, and we were sure she was dead, but she used some sort of magic to slow the bleeding. She probably would have been able to stop it completely if she hadn’t been hit by that soul.”

     Freyja buried her face in Vilkas‘s chest at the memory. She could hear the guard telling Vilkas the details that she so desperately wanted to forget. She was no icebrain. As soon as that soul hit her, she knew any hope of having a quiet, peaceful life was over. The way the guards whispered, and the amazed look on their faces as they gazed upon her made her want nothing more than to turn and run. She didn’t ask for this, and she was cursing the gods for giving her this fate. She was a hunter, not a hero.

     “It’s a pity that dragon had to ruin such a pretty thing, eh?” The guard tutted as he bent to examine the wound. Freyja felt Vilkas tense, and she looked up at him. His eyes had a golden tinge to them. She had seen it once or twice before, but never had the courage to ask about it. It seemed to happen when he was in the worst moods, and she knew better than to talk to him then.

     “Leave,” he growled.

     The guard laughed nervously “I’m sorry, it was just-”

     “Now.” The look in the warrior’s eyes made even Freyja shudder, and she heard the guard make a hasty retreat out of the mead hall.

     “Bit over-protective aren’t we?” Njada asked with a smirk.

     “Shut up,” he grumbled at her. They worked in silence for a minute, Njada cleaning out the wound while he rubbed Freyja’s arms with the blanket in an attempt to keep her warm and awake. The sound of approaching boots made all three Nords look up.

     “Here, I found some potions in your room. I hope you don’t mind...” Ria trailed off as she walked up and handed Vilkas the little red vials. She was beet red, as she should be. No one was more territorial about his space than Vilkas. Even Farkas had to get permission to go in!

     “I’ll let it slide... this time,” he said sternly, turning away from the chastised Imperial. His face softened as he looked at the little brunette in his arms. “Are you still with us, New Blood?” She nodded, and instantly regretted moving her head.

     “Oh gods,” she groaned, placing a hand on either side of her head. Bitter, salty liquid was suddenly being poured down her throat, and she felt the magic surging through her veins. As her nerves healed, the pain kicked in. She prided herself on not screaming, though she was pretty sure she gripped Vilkas‘s waist so hard it would be bruised for days! Exhaustion stole over her body as the potion worked to heal up the torn muscles and tendons.

     But she couldn’t sleep. The throbbing pain behind her eyes continued to build as the numbness from her shock receded. Her vision blurred and all she could hear was the pounding of her heart. “It hurts too bad,” she whispered. “The soul...” She turned and buried her face into Vilkas shirt once more. She hated being this weak in front of everyone. She was supposed to be a Companion, a mighty warrior! _They've got to be so disappointed in me,_ she thought mournfully.

      Anxiety washed over her. _Oh gods! Will I even be able to stay with the Companions?_ _Or will I have to go off hunting dragons?_ She had found a family, however dysfunctional it was, during her weeks here Jorrvaskr and was reluctant to give that up.

     Vilkas tucked the grey woolen blanket around her shoulders and pulled her into his arms. “It will be alright,” he murmured. “We’ll find a way to deal with this.” His voice sounded secure, resigned.

     Freyja had no clue how he could be so confident at a time like this, but he was nothing if not reliably arrogant, and she took comfort in it. “If you say so,” she slurred, receiving a warm chuckle in response. “Can I just not be here right now? I’m so tired.”

     “Aye, woman,” he said, gathering in his arms as he stood up. “I can do that.” He turned to Njada. “Is there anyone in the whelp’s quarters?”

     “I think Athis is in there right now.” She took a step closer, “but I have a feeling there are going to be a lot of people wanting to talk to the New Blood after this, and she looks like she could use a break.”

     “Right,” Vilkas nodded, causing his dark hair to shift back and forth. It caught the light from the lamps and shone a deep mahogany brown. “I’ll put her in my bed then.”

     Ria let out a little strangled noise of surprise, and Freyja felt her face heat up. She pretended to let sleep overtake her, laying her head on his shoulder.

     A chuckle rumbled deep in Vilkas’s chest as he carried the Freyja downstairs. “I know you’re awake.”

     “Quiet, or I’ll bleed all over you,” she whispered groggily.

     “You don’t have any blood left to spare, Little one,” he said. “Are you going to bleed to death just to spite me?”

     “Yes,” she mumbled, snuggling into his shoulder.

     He laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, let me know what you think! I love hearing from you all!


	6. Dangerous Animals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vilkas and Freyja really enjoy torturing each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Yes it is named after the Arctic Monkeys song, if you don't know it you are missing out because it's freakin' hot.)

     “New Blood!” Vilkas barked. “Get yourself down here and pay attention!”

     Freyja looked up from her work and glared at him. _Must he always be so loud... and grumpy?_

     “You need to be able to handle a bigger blade if you’re going to be fighting dragons all the time,” he continued.

     With a sigh, she closed her sketchbook. Kodlak had given it to her the night before as a congratulations on her first dragon kill. _First,_ she thought with a shudder. With the little book and a piece of charcoal, she could recreate all the things she had lost before time stripped the details from her memory. She had told the Harbinger in passing conversation that she had loved to draw while younger, and was touched he remembered. She carefully closed the sketch of her mother’s eyes and tucked the book under a plate on the table to keep it from blowing open. It was her most precious possession now. Granted, since the Imperials had taken everything from her, a bow and a sketchbook were about all she had. Well, that and the steel dagger Vilkas had given her before her trip to Bleak Falls. Her studded leather armor was still being repaired by Eorlund, and she was anxiously awaiting to hear of it’s fate. That dragon had done quite a number on it.

     Vilkas started swinging at a practice dummy to warm up his muscles. The morning sun shone down on the training yard, making his wolf armor shine. Ria was beside him, attempting to unsheathe a large iron greatsword nearly as tall as she.

     Freyja stood up and winced. The healing potions had sealed up her leg well enough, and the spell she had attempted last night had helped even more, but the muscle was still weak, and throbbed when she put weight on her leg. Her head was still pounding as well. She assumed it was a side effect of absorbing a dragon soul, but unfortunately, being the only Dragonborn, she had no one to ask about it. She felt a pang of loneliness. _Maybe those Greybeards will have a headache remedy_ , she thought hopefully.

     “We haven’t got all day!” Vilkas called, examining his blade to see if the wooden dummy had dulled it.

     She cursed at him under her breath earning a gasp from Ria.

     “I heard that.” Vilkas glared at her over his shoulder.

     “Good!” Freyja grumbled.

     He turned to face her and scowled. “I don’t appreciate your attitude, Whelp.”

     “Well I don’t appreciate being sliced open by a damned dragon!” she snapped, as she limped over to him.

     His expression softened a bit. “I see you are not yet recovered from your battle yesterday.” He gestured with his greatsword to the the alcove by the dummies. “Sit in the shade and observe while Ria and I practice.”

     Freyja hobbled her way over and sat down. The cool flagstone felt incredibly soothing to her tired muscles. She closed her eyes and heard Vilkas explaining to Ria how a shortsword would feel like a knitting needle in her hands, if she got used to training with larger blades.

     “I’ve never held a knitting needle!” Ria scoffed.

     “No... ehm... no, of course you haven’t.” Vilkas cleared his throat. Freyja’s eyes popped open and she saw him blush. She giggled at the thought of him knitting, and his blushed deepened, confirming her suspicions. She decided to take pity on the poor man and throw him a bone. “That’s a shame, Ria” she chimed in. “It’s really quite a useful hobby for a warrior to pick up.”

     “Really?” the Imperial girl asked, looking to her trainer skeptically.

     “Yes.” Vilkas said quickly, eager to regain face. “It’s very... soothing. Isn’t it Freyja?” He looked slightly desperate.

     “Oh absolutely,” she nodded. “It also helps you focus, and to learn to spot patterns and plan ahead.” She stretched her aching leg out and began to massage her thigh.

     “Not to mention” Vilkas added, tearing his eyes away from her hands. “A well made hat can save you from freezing to death, little Imperial.” He raised his sword, confidence seemingly regained, and swung at Ria.

     Vilkas may have been an arrogant ass, but when he fought it was a thing of beauty! He was quick and agile, despite his heavy armor and weapon. His style was intelligent and efficient, with no energy wasted on flashy moves or wild swings. Every attack was well placed and stuck home.

     Poor Ria managed to block perhaps one out of every four blows and was quickly being beaten senseless by the flat of the Nord’s blade. “I yield!” she gasped, backing away. She shook her head. “How on earth are you so quick?”

     Freyja was impressed as well. She couldn’t help but wonder what other skills the handsome Nord applied such strength and agility too. If he weren’t so damned infuriating and moody, she might have more of made an effort to find out! Her heart hammered in her chest as she entertained the notion.

     “It’s all in the swing,” he said, sidling up behind Ria. He slid his rough hands down her bare arms and came to rest with his hands gripping hers on the pommel of the sword. “Here, let me show you.” His voice was suddenly softer, deeper.

     Freyja’s breath hitched as she imagined herself in Ria’s place, with his arms around her. His body pressed up against hers. She wanted to get up and tear his hands off of the young girl, who looked like she was enjoying the whole thing entirely too much. She had not felt jealousy in a long time, but suddenly it came roaring to the surface with all the fury of a dragon. Her face flushed, and she shifted uncomfortably. She needed run, to fight something. She felt like a wild animal. Her night with Ralof two months prior had clearly not been enough to make up for three years of celibacy that preceded it. Not near enough! She looked up.

     Vilkas was still “helping” Ria, but his eyes were on Freyja. He had the most delicious, devious grin on his face.

     _The bastard is teasing me!_ she realized. She bit her lip, fighting the urge to attack him.

     His grin widened to become positively wolfish.

     “So it’s all in the footwork?” Ria asked, completely oblivious to the interactions of her companions.

     “Of course,” Vilkas grinned, giving Freyja a heated look. “When you’ve got a big weight swinging around your upper body” his eyes slid to Freyja’s chest, “you have to compensate with your lower body” his gaze slid lower for a second, and then flitted up to look her in the eyes. “Otherwise you’ll fall right over!” he finished.

     Freyja felt as if she herself was about to fall right over, and was thankful she was already sitting down. The training yard had suddenly become far too warm, and she could feel a blush creeping into her cheeks.

     “Freyja? Are you okay?” Ria asked, sheathing the greatsword. She looked at the newest companion with concern.

     “Yes, New Blood, you look quite... unwell,” Vilkas smirked. “I hope you are not in any discomfort.”

 _Damn that lying man to Oblivion!_ He knew full well what he was doing to her and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to strangle him or kiss him for it.

 _Both could be fun._  

     She put on her bravest smile, “I’ll be fine” she said sweetly. “I think I just need some rest. I’ve still got quite the headache.” She attempted to get to her feet, her injured leg making it difficult. She should not have sat there for so long and allowed it to stiffen up.

     Vilkas made an apologetic sound and strode over to help her up. He hovered near her while she made her unsteady way across the training yard. 

     As she went up the stairs towards the door, she made sure to stumble just a bit. He steadied her with his hands on her hips as she came to rest pressed up against him.

     “Well, I guess I’ll to the Mare for a drink.” Ria announced. “Would you like to come Vilkas?”

     “No thank you, Ria” he said, not taking his eyes off the woman in his arms. “I have some things around here I need to... attend to.” His hands gave Freyja’s waist a squeeze.

     “Oh,” the Imperial girl sounded disappointed. “Well, do you need anything while I’m out Freyja? I could stop by Arcadia’s and pick up a healing potion for you.”

     Freyja turned her face to look at the sweet, naive girl. She almost felt guilty. She had to remind herself that it wasn’t her concern who Ria pined for. _Vilkas is a grown man and can make up his own mind._ “Thank you Ria, but I’ll be fine. You go have a good time. You did really well today.” The girl flashed her a warm smile before turning and walked around the edge of the building.

     “You know,” Vilkas murmured, pulling her a bit closer. “I find that a warm bath does wonders to ease all sorts of aches and pains.”

     “Mmm... it does,” Freyja said, with the tiniest shift of her hips. “And do you perhaps have any of that blue mountain flower oil that makes such a good muscle rub?”

     “I do” he smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s yours if you need it.”

     “Hmm... I think I do need it.” she purred looking up at him. He licked his lips, which were now only inches from hers. “In fact,” she took a step back from him, earning a pout. “I think I’ll go take a nice, hot, steamy bath and until I’m completely clean and refreshed.” She watched his long throat as he swallowed. “Then, I’ll take that lovely flower oil, and rub it all over until my leg is so relaxed feels like it was made of butter.”

     “Oh” Vilkas’ voice was suddenly hoarse and now he appeared to be the uncomfortable one.

     “Oh yes...” the little brunette nodded. “And then” she fought the urge to grin as she saw him actually catch his breath. “And then, I’m going to sneak into the cool, dark, sleeping quarters, slip my poor, tired body between the soft sheets and drift off into a blissful and satisfied sleep... completely alone.” She added. “Have fun attending to those ‘things’ you mentioned.” She picked her sketchbook up from the table, and made her way inside.

     “Damn that woman!” she heard the young Companion growl as the door closed.

     She grinned and asked Tilma to draw her a bath.

 

* * *

 

     She made her way into the sleeping quarters, which were deserted in the afternoon. As she sat down on the edge of the bed to brush out her wet hair, she noticed a tiny little blue bottle on her nightstand.

     Underneath it was a note that merely said _“Enjoy.”_


	7. Life Is Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Freyja's birthday! What will she get? *fluffyness ensues*

     Vilkas burst through the doors of Jorvaskrr, causing the windows to rattle in their frames. His eyes scanned the training yard, searching for his prey. _I’ll not let that infuriating woman get the best of me this time!_ The morning breeze carried with it a soft sigh, and his gaze wandered up to the Skyforge. It was Sundas, the day Eorland spent with his family, so the forge should have been empty. His curiosity piqued, Vilkas followed the path up the craggy stairs, making an effort to tread softly in his steel boots. As he rounded the steps to the platform, his quarry came into view. She was perched on the wall, overlooking the plains and mountains to the south, her legs dangling precariously over the edge. The morning sun lit her from the east, and turned her hair into a riot of deep browns and bright reds against the plain linen of her shirt. Vilkas's hands twitched as he thought about what it would be like to unbraid and run his hands through it. Her usual apples and cotton scent was mixed with threads of honey and liquor, and the intoxicating brew whipped around him in the morning air. The wolf in him stirred. _By the gods! If I don’t have her soon, I’m going to go mad!_ He cleared his throat gently, hoping he wouldn't spook the girl and cause her to plummet to her death. She didn't react. He tried again louder, and still nothing. "New Blood!" he called finally.

     "What?" Freyja asked, not bothering to turn around.

     Vilkas suppressed a growl and decided to ignore the dismissal he heard in her voice. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a blush creep into his face. "I thought we might work on your hand to hand combat today. Your last training session was... not satisfying..." he finished lamely. In fact, it had only served to make him hunger for her all the more.

     Freyja snorted. "Sorry to hear that." With a shaking hand, she reached over and grabbed a bottle of mead that had been sitting on the wall next to her. She uncorked it, and took a long pull of the liquor. "Now, if you'll please excuse me..." she trailed off, taking another swig of her drink.

     Vilkas tore his eyes from her, to see that she had three more bottles lined up on the wall next to her, one of which was already emptied. Another empty lay on the ground behind her. "Are you drunk, whelp?" he growled, striding towards her. He didn't like the idea of her getting sloppy while in such a perilous position.

     "I'm working on it," she mumbled, taking another drink of mead. "It would go much easier if you weren't here pestering me."

     Vilkas was stunned! Freyja was stubborn, fiery, and occasionally defiant, but she was never rude or downright mean. _And here I thought we were actually getting along._ "What is wrong with you today?" he demanded, crossing his arms and glaring down at her. _Maybe she’s not dealing with this whole “Dragonborn” thing as well as I thought._

     She sighed, rubbing her eyes with her free hand. "I'm sorry, Vilkas. I shouldn't have said that. I'm just having a rough day. I'd really appreciate if you just let me be."

     "And why should I do you any favors?" he asked, still a bit put out by her attitude towards him.

     She finally turned her gaze upon him and his anger dissipated. She looked so tired, her eyes haunted with pain and sorrow. "Because it's my birthday" she answered softly. Her eyes filled with tears. "And all I want... I just wanted... " she shook her head, turning away again.

     "Just what?" Vilkas prompted. He couldn't help himself and he lay a hand on her shoulder.

     "Nothing! Just forget I said anything!" She scrambled up from the wall and made for the stairs. She stumbled slightly, and Vilkas reached out to steady her. "For gods sakes, Vilkas! Just leave me alone!" she pleaded.

     "No," he countered. Kodlak had insisted on celebrating the twin's birthday every year, on the first of Sun's Height. That was the closest he could figure to their birthday, given how old they were when Jergen brought them back to Jorvaskrr. When he was younger, Vilkas had thought it silly and sentimental, but as the years progressed he began to appreciate the feeling of home and family that each celebration brought. He wanted Freyja to feel that warmth and happiness too. "Freyja" he said, gently tugging on her arm. The sound felt strange on his tongue.

     She stilled, and he realized that he had never actually called her by her name before. _Gods below! Have I really been that harsh? It’s a wonder she talks to me at all!_ He resolved to be a little easier on the girl. She had enough to deal with as it was. She didn’t need him being an ass on top of it.

     "I'll not let you wallow in misery on your birthday," he declared. "This is a day to celebrate your life."

     "I'm not sure that it's worth celebrating anymore," she confessed, her breathing growing ragged. She looked at the ground ashamedly. Vilkas felt his throat constrict and he pulled her into his arms so she wouldn't see his eyes tear up. She froze for a second, and then returned the embrace with a fervor. She clung to him as if her life depended on it.

     "I'm sure you are worth celebrating, Freyja." He assured her in a husky voice. "And we both know I'm never wrong."

     He felt her giggle against his chest, and his heart warmed. She was so soft, and so sweet when she allowed herself to be. He wanted to pick her up, carry her into the mead hall, and show her just exactly how worthy she was, but he resisted the urge. It was not about him... today at least. He stepped back from her, his inner wolf howling in disappointment.

     "So, birthday girl," he smiled. "What would you like to do today?"

     "Anything?" she asked. Her mouth slowly spread in a smile.

     "Anything," he answered.

 

* * *

 

 

_This was not what I expected to be doing with Freyja today._ Vilkas sighed wearily and took a pull from the bottle of mead next to him.

     Freyja raised an eyebrow at him skeptically. “You said ‘anything.’”

     “Aye,” he nodded. “That I did.” He leaned back on his elbows and looked at the sky.

     “You can go back if you want to,” Freyja grumbled.

     “I thought you wanted me here.”

     “I do!” She snapped. Her face turned red and she went back to sketching in her little book.

     Vilkas fished in the picnic basket for more Jazbay grapes with a satisfied smirk as her heard her heart race in her chest. “It’s your birthday, New Blood. If you want me to sit with you while you draw in your little book and watch mammoths stomp around, so be it.” He gave a little shrug. “Though I don’t see why we came all the way out here.” He popped the sweet little fruit in his mouth looked at the plains that spread all around them. They were camped out on a little rocky outcrop overlooking the giant’s camp. Whiterun was to their backs. A small herd of elk grazed nearby, and Vilkas fought the urge to transform and chase after them. _How long has it been since I’ve had a good hunt? How long since I’ve tasted the fresh warm blood of a kill?_ he shuddered, nearly dropping his drink. _I am in control of the blood. It does not control me._

     “Are you alright?” Freyja’s voice was soft, worried. He turned to meet her piecing green eyes.

     “I’m fine,” he said with a nervous swallow. _She can see through me as surely as I see through her._ “I’m just... tired.”

     She turned back to her work. “Not surprising,” she said, using her pinky finger to blend a bit of charcoal on the page. “You’ve hardly slept at all the past few nights.”

     He was touched by her concern. “I could say the same about you,” he replied.

     She gave him a warm glance, before turning back to her artwork. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. It’s just this whole... Dragonborn thing. I can’t really wrap my head around it. I don’t even know what it really means, and now I’m supposed to go climb some mountain, to meet with some men I’ve never heard of, and they’re going to tell me my destiny?” The charcoal she was using snapped and she cursed quietly.

     Vilkas frowned. “You don’t have to do anything, you know. Destiny means nothing when you have free will. You can just tell them to go fight their own battles, and leave you be.”

     Freyja bit her lip. “I know... but do you really think they’d fight those battles? Would the Jarls, the Legion, the Thalmor, the Stormcloaks... would any of them actually set aside their own agendas for the greater good?” She looked at him, hope and anticipation dancing across her features.

     He wanted to lie and say yes. That they would pick up the standard and fight the dragon threat. That she could stay here in Whiterun, hunting down bandits and searching for lost treasures with him. He wanted to say these things, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie to her. He pursed his lips, and cursed himself silently as he saw the light in her eyes fade.

     “I thought not,” she huffed. “And what kind of person would I be, if I just let these creatures slaughter innocent people, knowing I could do something to stop it? How could I live with myself if something happened to Kodlak or Farkas?” she paused and her eyes grew wet. “Or you?” She shuddered.

     Vilkas reached out, and turned her chin toward him. “Firstly, each person is responsible for their own life. You don’t owe anybody anything, Freyja. And second,” he grinned. “Do you really think an overgrown lizard is going to take me down? Have you forgotten who you are talking to, woman?”

     She giggled. “Oh silly me! The mere idea that the mighty Vilkas would ever be outdone by a measly dragon! What was I thinking?” she rolled her eyes and flopped back on the blanket, making her chest bounce deliciously.

     “So... what do you draw in that little book of yours?” Vilkas asked, trying desperately to change the direction of his thoughts. _Ysmir's beard, man! You’re her trainer!_ he scolded himself.

     Freyja sat up and held the book between them. “Memories mostly.” She flipped backwards a page and showed him her work. She was quite good. “This is a guar. The Ashlanders raise them. They are great pack animals, and their skins make amazingly soft leather.” She looked out across the plains. “I like coming out here, because the mammoths remind me a bit of them. I find it soothing to watch the Giants go about their simple day to day life tending them. It feels like home.” She smiled back down at the page. “My boyfriend gave me a guar of my own for my fourteenth birthday, when I was initiated to the tribe. I wonder he’s still alive out there, wandering the plains...”

     “Your guar or your boyfriend?” Vilkas groused. Trying to keep the jealousy he felt from tainting his tone.

     “My guar,” Freyja chuckled, nudging him with her elbow. “I know Zinnat is still out there. I heard he became Ashkhan two years ago.”

     The jealousy was screaming through Vilkas‘s veins, and his wolf stirred. A low growl rumbled deep in his chest.

     Freyja looked up at him with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Something wrong?”

     “No.”

     “I suppose I should mention that he is no longer my boyfriend,” she relented.

     He grunted in response.

     “Hey, Grumpy!” she said loudly, waking him from his dark thoughts. She slapped his arm with her sketchbook.

     He took it from her, "What's this?"  
  
     "A new memory."  
  
     He gazed at the page in front of him. It was the one she had been working on while they were sitting out here. She had drawn him, sleeping in a chair by the hearth, with a book on his lap. It was amazingly detailed, down to the scars on his hands and the warpaint around his eyes. What surprised him most was the peaceful expression on his face. He looked ten years younger and a lifetime less worried than usual. There was a blanket tucked around his shoulders. The very same blanket he had woken up with mysteriously this morning. _It must have been her,_ he realized. He thought back to all the nights they had spent in the mead hall together, neither able to sleep. They exchanged few words, and merely sat next to each other reading. Occasionally, they would trade books, or one would get up to stoke the fire or make tea. Some nights, he could tell she was trying to stay awake to keep him company, and he growl at her to go to bed. She ignored him, of course, and he’d have to carry her down to the sleeping quarters once she finally succumbed to slumber. Other nights, he’d drift off first, and wake up with a blanket spread over him, or someone would half-wake him in the middle of the night, urging him to go to his bed.

     He looked up Freyja. She had never looked more beautiful. Sure, she was exhausted, and had a smudge of charcoal on her cheek. Her simple brown linen pants and white shirt had probably seen better days, but he didn’t notice any of that. All he saw was the woman who had been by his side for the past three months, bringing a newfound sense of peace and tenderness that he so desperately needed. He realized he maybe wanted more than just to bed her.  
    

     He tossed the little sketchbook on the blanket next to them, grabbed her about the nape of the neck, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. She responded by weaving her hands through his hair, and nibbling slightly at his bottom lip. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close, exploring her lips for another minute or so before she broke away. He growled in an entirely new type of hunger, eliciting a giggle from her.

     “Definitely a happy birthday!” she smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm... perhaps Vilkas is feeling something a bit deeper than just lust? How will it work out for our favorite werewolf?
> 
> (The title came from the song "Life is Beautiful" by Vega4 and it's a lyrically awesome song and you should give it a listen if you can find it.)


	8. Cry, Cry, Crow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freyja and Vilkas try to figure things out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some animal hunting/gore in here. So if that is a sensitive issue for you, you might want to skip this one, or at least scroll down to Vilkas's bit.

     The steel arrow sang through the crisp air and struck home, sinking into the elk’s chest as the beast bugled. It took two steps and collapsed, dead by the time it hit the ground.

     “Good shot, Muth-sera!” Janessa said, clapping the little Nord on the back.

     Freyja slung her hunting bow over her shoulder. “I was imagining it was Delphine,” she groused. Tromping through the fallen leaves to where the great beast lay, she crouched down to examine her kill.

     The Dumner woman followed while reaching into her pack. She handed Freyja a knife. “I’m surprised you didn’t let it die more slowly then!” she said. “After all that she put you through...” she shook her head. “You should have let me kill that n’wah! Or at least feed her to that dragon in Kynesgrove.” A cold breeze rustled through the trees, and the dark elf looked up at the gray clouds hanging heavy in the sky. She rubbed the exposed flesh on her lean arms in an attempt to keep warm. It seemed winter had shown up early this year.

     “Oh, I thought about it!” Freyja slit the creature’s belly open and began to clean it out while Janessa moved up to the neck and began skinning the hide. Pushing a stray lock of dark brown hair away with the back of her hand, she sighed, “I suppose she could be useful, though I still don’t understand why she had to steal the horn just to see if I was Dragonborn. Couldn’t she have just asked me to use my Thu’um to demonstrate?” She had learned tolerate a lot of things in her life, but being manipulated still made her blood boil.

     “You should have Shouted her head off!” Janessa scowled as she ran the keen blade expertly between the thick hide and muscle. “That would have shown her!” She yanked the skin down and off and set it aside to be cleaned more thoroughly later on. “And where does she get off, thinking she can order you about? You are the Dovahkiin! You are the one who should be giving orders.” She began to carve out the backstraps while Freyja went to work on the inside. Both women preferred to clean their kills in the wild, so that the local wildlife could make use of anything that was left over.

     They worked in companionable silence for a while. It had rained the night before, and the forest smelled of decomposing leaves and wet soil. For some reason, the scent reminded Freyja of Vilkas, and she was hit with a pang of loneliness. _Don’t get attached_ , her mind cautioned. _Attachment leads to loss, and then you end up right back where you started._ With a shake of her head, she banished the dark thoughts that were trying to swim to the surface. She saw a small red fox sneak up, and, with a smile, she tossed a piece of meat toward it. It snagged up the little bit of flesh and disappeared back into the underbrush with a hungry growl. She removed the tenderloins from inside the rib cavity. She and Janessa would have a fine dinner when they returned home! Spreading out a piece of linen on the forest floor, she covered it with a layer of leaves to make it moisture resistant. She then laid the meat on in it and wrapped it up into a tidy package for transport.  

     “Don’t worry Janessa, I’m not going to let Delphine boss me around. I’ll follow her lead for now, just to see what I can learn, but that’s it. I don’t like getting ordered about.”

     “Unless it’s by Vilkas,” the mercenary’s dark red eyes glinted with silent laughter. She handed the back straps to the little hunter to be wrapped up along with the tenderloins. She bent down and used her skinning knife to remove the ivory eye teeth from the elk’s upper jaw. Fralia Gray-Mane would probably pay well enough for the pieces. She could make some nice pendants from them.

     Embarrassment wriggled down Freyja’s spine as she blushed. “It’s not... I just...” she huffed, trying to find the right words. “I don’t _like_ getting ordered about by him.” She roughly wrapped up the meat and the older elf smiled at the clearly flustered young woman. “Believe it or not, he infuriates me when he gets like that.”

     “Sure... infuriates. That’s why you were mumbling his name in your sleep last night.” Janessa grinned, loading the wrapped meat in the pack. She took out their last canteen, and poured it over the hide, washing as much of the blood off as she could.

     Freyja’s mouth hung open as she turned bright red. “I did not!”

     “You most certainly did, sera.” Janessa assured her. She rolled up the hide. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. He’s a fine man... if you like those big, brutish warrior types.”

     Freyja smiled, wiping the blades clean on the grass. “I suppose he is,” she said quietly. Cold water was splashed on her hands from the canteen and she rubbed them together with some leaves to get most of the blood and gore off, before taking the container and doing the same for her companion. She stood up, tucking the knives into the belt on her new studded armor. “Alright, let’s head out.” They could refill their water supply once they reached a spot where the river banks weren’t so steep.

     Janessa stood, shouldering the pack that was now laden with meat. “Anxious to get back to Whiterun all of a sudden? I wonder why that could be...?” she clucked her tongue.

     “I just don’t want the meat to spoil,” Freyja held her head up defiantly and gave a little sniff.

     Janessa nodded. “Of course. It will fetch a good price in the market, as will the leather once you tan the hide.”

     “I was thinking we should split everything,” Freyja said, trudging up the hill.  

     Valtheim Towers was just coming into view, and she was glad they had killed all the bandits inhabiting the place when they had begun the trek to High Hrothgar. _I can’t believe it’s only been three weeks. It seems so long ago..._ Fortunately, the structure looked to still be abandoned.

     “You don’t have to do that,” Janessa said, sounding surprised.

     “It’s the least I could do,” Freyja waved a hand dismissively. “You’ve saved me more times than I can count. I wouldn’t have made it through any of this without you.”

     “I am glad to help, Muth-sera,” the elf said solemnly. “You are Dovahkiin. Anytime you need backup, I am here for you. Free of charge,” she added. “You’ve enough to deal with without having to worry about your coin purse. Besides,” her voice took on a lighter tone. “You are not the worst traveling companion in the world, even if you did throw yourself in front of dragon fire.”

     “Hey! I got the shot, didn’t I?” Freyja countered. “ And thank you. You are not the worst to travel with, either.”

     “Perhaps next time I will bring some more health potions,” Janessa smirked. “You Nords have no tolerance for flame. I would imagine your man would be very upset if you perished.”

     Freyja rolled her eyes. “He’s NOT my man! We kissed once, and the next day I left for High Hrothgar.” She still felt a pang of guilt when she thought about it.

     “And did your hasty departure have anything to do with that kiss?” the mercenary asked astutely.

     Freyja was silent for a moment. “Perhaps,” she admitted. “I just... needed some time to sort out my thoughts. Everything has been happening so fast, and,” she shook her head, “I’m just not sure if a relationship is something I could handle right now. Or ever,” she frowned up at the looming towers. A raven cawed and flew out of a darkened window, making her jump slightly.

     “If I were in your position, I would cling to whatever light I found in this world,” the Dumner advised watching the bird fly away with a wary gaze. “It is important to have something to fight for, something to come back to.”

     Freyja mulled that over. “I don’t know Janessa. I think Vilkas needs someone more... carefree. Someone who can truly give him the time and attention he deserves. He seems so burdened as it is, he doesn’t need me adding to it.” She felt tears sting her eyes, and picked up her pace pulling ahead of the elf.

     “Maybe,” Janessa said quietly, “You should let him decide for himself. He’s a smart man, and probably knows what he needs better than you do.” They traveled in silence the rest of the way, but Janessa’s words continued to echo through Freyja’s mind.

 

* * *

 

 

     “Shit! Are you okay?” Farkas extended a hand to his brother, who was laying on the ground, staring up at the sky.

     “Aye,” Vilkas grunted, sitting up slowly and wiping a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. “It was my mistake. I don‘t know where my head has been lately.”

     “It’s where it always is” Farkas frowned in confusion. “I just hit it with my shield.” He helped his twin up to his feet. “Sorry. You sure you’re alright?” He placed a hand on Vilkas‘s shoulder and looked into his identical ice blue eyes with concern.

     Vilkas nodded. He turned and spat, crimson blood staining the gray of the flagstone. He tongued the cut on the inside of his lip with a wince.

     “Sorry,” Farkas repeated sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. It was a nervous gesture both brothers shared.

     “No,” Vilkas sighed. “It was my fault. I should have been paying better attention.” He walked over to where his greatsword had landed and slid it into the sheath at his back. He had cracked his head something fierce on the stone, it was starting to ache.

     Farkas followed behind him.“You still worried about her?” he asked gently.

     Vilkas scowled. “She’s a big girl, she can take care of herself.” He turned and headed for the Underforge.

     “I don’t think she’s big at all,” Farkas replied. “But you’re right. She’s tough. A survivor. Don’t know how good she is at caring for herself though. Seems a bit reckless when it comes to that. At least that’s what I think.” He shrugged, “but then again, thinkin’s not my strong point.”

     “No, you’re right,” Vilkas rubbed his face wearily, and pushed open the stone door. “She is reckless.” His eyes watered in relief as the darkness flooded them. _Gods, when was the last time I slept?_

     The twins made their way through the chamber and down the winding passageway. The clanking of their armor echoed off the stone walls, effectively drowning out the sound of Vilkas‘s yawn. He pushed open the secret door at the end and squinted as the gray light hit his tired eyes. At least it’s overcast, he though. He and Farkas carefully made their way across a rocky ledge to a little outcropping at the base of the great stone wall. This had been their secret spot ever since they were little. It was close enough to the mead hall to hear someone calling for them, but still outside the city walls. There was a grate from which a stream trickled out and down to the river. Right now it was clogged with fallen leaves and blossoms from the Gildergreen. It had been years since the tree in the center of the city had bloomed, but once Freyja brought back the Eldergleam sap, it regained all it’s former splendor and more.  

     Vilkas smiled, remembering how excited she had been when the first of the great pink leaves budded forth. It was the only time he had seen her truly happy, with no ghost of sadness lingering in her eyes. His beast blood had been particularly troublesome that day, and he had done his best to steer clear of her, lest he ruin her good mood. That didn’t stop him from watching from afar as she played tag with the kids in the market square, running and laughing right along with them.

     “You look tired, brother,” Farkas observed as he sat down next to his twin. He picked up a stick and began to unclog the drain of the pink debris. The clear water rushed gratefully out of the openings and cascaded down the hill. He paused as his nostrils flared. He reached up and brushed the back of Vilkas’s head. Dark red blood coated his fingertips. “You should get that looked at.”

     “I’ll be fine,” Vilkas grunted, hugging his knees against the cool wind that blew across the plains.

     A deep growl erupted from his brother’s chest, and the scent of wolf permeated the air.

     “Alright,” Vilkas hissed quietly. “If I promise to take a healing potion when we go back, will you calm down?”

     “Yes,” Farkas managed roughly. He began knocking the debris out of the grating again, a bit more forcefully this time.

     Vilkas laid his calloused hand on his brother’s forearm. “Are YOU okay, Farkas?”

     The hulking Nord took a deep breath and sat back. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Just... the beastblood. Haven’t been sleeping well either.” His beard twitched as he gave a little embarrassed smile. “I’ve been worryin’ about the little whelp too.”

     Vilkas’s throat suddenly felt very dry. “Oh?” he asked, hoping his voice sounded neutral. The last thing he wanted was for a woman to come between them!

     Farkas nodded. “She’s so little, and sweet, and young. I just hate the thought of her out there, facing those big monsters.” He hesitated and looked to his brother nervously. “And I’m worried about what will happen to you if she doesn’t come back.”

     Relief flooded through Vilkas's veins. “Oh, Farkie don’t-”

     “You’re not sleeping at all,” Farkas interrupted, with a stern glare. “And you hardly eat. You're worried sick!” He shook his head, and his long brown hair swished gently over his pauldrons. “I’ve never seen you like this Vil. You’ve taken a fancy to a few girls over the years... but this is different, isn’t it?”

     “Aye,” Vilkas said softly. A few fine flakes of snow began to drift lazily down. It wasn’t enough to bother a son of the north like him, but the message was clear enough. Autumn was done. He thought of the long winter ahead, and hoped he could spend most of it curled up by the hearth with a certain archer. _Assuming she comes back._ “She hasn’t left my mind from the moment I first saw her.” He shook his head. “I can’t figure her out. She’s usually so strong, and yet there’s times when she looks as if she’ll break at any moment, and nothing I can do can make it better.” He ran a rough hand through his long wavy hair. “I try to coax her out and just when I think she’s going to open up to me, she retreats under the surface.” He lashed out and kicked a rock in his frustration. "How can I help her if she won't talk to me? How can I fight by her side if she's not here?" Fuming silently, he watched it bounce down the slope and roll to a stop on the road at the bottom. “I think if I actually told her how I really feel, she’d go running before the words had died on my lips.” _Maybe she already has. It’s been three weeks...  
_

     Farkas shrugged. “I think she just needs more time. We’ve been here our whole lives,” he looked around at the valley surrounding them. The light flakes were drifting down onto the yellowed plains. “She came here just three months ago, not knowing anybody and only owning what she could carry. Now all this Dragonborn stuff... I’d be scared shitless.”

     Vilkas snorted, “Somehow I doubt that, brother.” Nothing ever rattled Farkas. He took everything in stride; Jergen’s disappearance, becoming a werewolf... sometimes Vilkas envied his twin’s stability.

     Farkas grinned. “Maybe not. I don’t reckon I’m smart enough to be scared of much anything.” His face grew serious. “Skjor said that he had a new job. He wants to test Freyja.”  

     “So soon?” Vilkas frowned.  

     “Basic artifact retrieval. Dustman’s cairn. It’s been empty for years,” Farkas shrugged. “He thinks she can handle it. And I’ll keep an eye on her.” 

     “You’re to be her Sheild-brother on this test then?” Vilkas’s frowned deepened. 

     Farkas nodded. “Yeah. Skjor said he didn’t want to risk you two distracting each other.”

     Vilkas was about to protest when a scent on the breeze made him freeze. He turned his head toward the road and sniffed the air. There was a familiar apples and cotton scent wafting from the eastern road, coming out of the pass. Sure enough, two figures crested the hill. One tall and thin, the other short and thicker. It was all he could do to keep from jumping up and running to them.

     Farkas let loose a low chuckle. “Easy brother!” he placed a heavy hand on Vilkas’s shoulder, causing the slighter twin to sit back down. “Weren’t you just saying you didn’t want to scare her away?”

     “But-” Vilkas frowned. Farkas was right, of course. He was actually a better with women, though they never talked about it. Vilkas dug his fingers in the soil at his sides and he ground his teeth. Watching the figures slowly make their way up the road was torturous!

     “Wait till they see us, brother,” Farkas advised. “You sneak up on your prey, not your lover.”

     Vilkas rolled his eyes and went back to watching the little whelp trudge up the road. Her breath puffed out in the air, and she and the Dunmer following her were both shivering. _She’s half Breton,_ he reminded himself. _Maybe she can’t tolerate the cold well... I should go make sure there are some extra furs on her bed._ He got to his feet and down on the road Freyja’s head swiveled up. She raised a hand in greeting.

     “And now you can go,” Farkas smiled, getting to his feet.

     Vilkas was already away, skittering down the hill. He stumbled to a stop right in front of Freyja, who looked at him amusedly.

     “Good to see you back, New Blood.”

     “Hello,” she smiled and bit her lip as her face flushed.  

     With that smile, all Vilkas’s worries that she regretted their kiss, that she would avoid him, dissipated.

     Janessa sniggered and Freyja shot her a warning glance.

     “Did you have a good journey?” Farkas asked, hopping off a rock and landing on the cobblestones with a _WHUMP!_

     “Very... informative,” Freyja said. “I’m glad to be home though.” She glanced at Vilkas. “Hopefully for a while.”

     _Home._ The word was music to his ears. He had been afraid she would have had to run off on more Dragonborn business. He fought the urge to grin like a fool, and instead arranged his face in it’s more usual scowl. “Good,” he nodded. “The winter up here can be tough on a little whelp like you. Best stay close to shelter.”

     She lifted her chin high in the air and her eyes sparked up at him. She was so feisty! She really must have been glad to be back. “I can handle the cold!”

     “You’re shivering, New Blood,” Farkas observed. He reached out, and Janessa handed the pack to him with a groan of relief.

     “C’mon, Little One,” Vilkas smirked. “Let’s get you inside before you freeze to death!” He held out his hand, nervous despite his cocky demeanor.

     Freyja grumbled something under her breath about strangulation, and took his hand.

     He couldn’t have looked more smug if he tried. She rolled her eyes and he laughed as they walked over the bridge and towards Jorrvaskr. His inner wolf howled in victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This title came from the song "Cry Cry Crow" by The Pines and it has a very cold, traveling sort of feel that is perfect for Skyrim.


	9. Wolf Like Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freyja learns a little something about her friend, Farkas...

     _Farkas is a werewolf. FARKAS IS A WEREWOLF!_

     Freyja stared through the grate in shock as she watched her sweetest and most lovable friend turn into a hulking black beast. A vicious growl erupted from his muzzle. He grabbed the nearest attacker and ripped her head clean off her body. With a mighty roar, he spun and pounced on another adversary, tearing his throat out in a spray of crimson. The wolf dropped the gurgling man and charged a Bosmer that was desperately trying to nock an arrow. As he was tearing the elf to pieces, a Redgaurd woman snuck up behind him and raised her silver greatsword.

     _I can’t see this..._ Freyja shook her head and tried to look away from her friend’s impending death, even while her hands clung to the bars trying to pry them open and run to his side. _There’s too many of them... even if he is... oh GODS!_ The woman’s leg came flying toward her, hitting the grate with a thump and splattering her face with hot blood.

     The great beast that was Farkas twitched his ears back at her yelp and turned. His black lips drew back to reveal sharp, gleaming white fangs. She wasn’t sure which unnerved her more; that the wolfish grin managed to look apologetic, or that she actually understood that. _Great, first absorbing dragon souls, now communicating with werewolves! I really must be losing my mind!_

     “Watch out!” she called out, as an Orc raised a massive silver warhammer into the air.

     Farkas spun with a snarl. His arm lashed out and great claws tore through the Orc’s armor like butter. Entrails spilled out as the brute sank to his knees. He looked up up at the werewolf in terror and opened his mouth. He never got the chance to scream.

     Freyja gazed in shock at the pile of bodies in the middle of the room as Farkas loped up to her. She froze as he stuck his muzzle in between the bars. Golden eyes bored into hers and he sniffed her neck. He let out a chuff and licked her cheek.

     “Thank you,” she said dryly as her heart returned to a somewhat normal pace. “That was disgusting.”

     His tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth and he retreated, disappearing into the next room.

     “Well... here I am,” Freyja sighed wearily, looking around at the little cell she was stuck in. _Skjor was a fool for not researching this job first!_ she groused. _Now I’m trapped in a tomb, and Farkas is off running around as a beast. Fantastic._ If she ever made it back to Jorrvaskr, she was going to skin the old warrior alive! She heard shuffling around in the next room, followed by a grunt. Suddenly, the rusted bars that were boxing her into the little alcove lowered with a screeching sound that made her teeth hurt. She picked up her bow, and made her way over to the archway that led to the next room, being careful not to slip in the slick pools of blood all over the floor.

     “EEEP! Farkas!” she squeaked, throwing a hand over her eyes.

     The giant Nord laughed. “What’s wrong, New Blood? Never seen a naked man before?”

     Freyja’s face burned, and she lowered her hand, resolutely keeping her eyes on Farkas’s face. “Of course I have it was just... unexpected...” _Don’t look down, don’t look down..._

     “Why? Did you think my armor would transform with me?” he cocked his head to the side, genuinely curious.

     “No... well... I don’t know...” Freyja’s thoughts were all a jumble. _Gods below! If Vilkas is built anything like his brother..._ She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I don’t know how this works, Farkas. You’re the first werewolf I’ve met... at least that I’m aware of.”

     “Oh...” his face fell into gentle expression. “Did I scare you? I didn’t mean to, you know.” He walked over to her, and placed his big hands on her shoulders. His eyes had returned to their usual silvery blue and radiated kindness and concern.

     Freyja managed to give him a small smile. “No... I mean yes, but I was more scared FOR you than OF you.”  

     “You’re takin‘ this a lot better than I thought you would,” he admitted.  

     “When a dragon interrupts your execution, you kind of learn to roll with the punches,” she shrugged. “Besides, I am pretty much a walking soul gem, so I’ve no right to judge anyone else.” She clenched her teeth as she found her gaze wandering over his sculpted abs, and yanked it back up to his face. “But you WILL have to explain this all to me once we get out of this place!”

     He beamed at her and wrapped her in his massive arms. “Thanks sister,” he rumbled. “I’m glad I can trust you.”

     “That’s great, Farkas,” she stared resolutely up at the underside of his jaw, noting a jagged scar that ran down his neck. She cleared her throat. “Can you put some clothes on now, or am I going to have to go through the rest of these ruins staring at your bare ass?”

     He released her with a booming laugh. “You should be so lucky!” He ran a hand through his long dark hair.

     Freyja rolled her eyes. “I don’t think running naked through the halls, intimidating the draugr with your manhood is the greatest battle strategy.”

     “I suppose not,” he frowned as he placed his hands on his hips. “You probably know strategy better than me. Brains are the one thing I’m not big on,” he finished with a mischievous smirk.

     Freyja pinched the bridge of her nose. “Farkas!” she groaned.

     He chuckled. “Alright, alright! I’m going!” he lifted up his hands in surrender. “I think I only busted the buckles on my armor. I can probably find some spares among the bodies,” he explained, sauntering off toward the room they had come from. He paused next to Freyja and bent down. “Just so you know,” his beard tickled her ear as he whispered in his deep voice, “there IS a strong family resemblance.”

     “Oh gods,” she breathed, turning red.

     Farkas laughed as he left the room.

 

* * *

 

 

     Freyja let her last arrow fly. It hit the draugr right in throat, and it collapsed in a dry leathery heap. Corpse dust puffed in the air and she gagged as the bitter taste hit her throat. She could not wait to get out of this tomb and into a hot bath!

     Farkas slowed to a lurching walk and lowered his sword. There was no reason to rush to her aid now that the last one was dead. “Good shot,” he grunted. He clutched his side with a wince. “How many was that? I lost count after the first five or so...”

     “Nineteen,” Freyja said grimly, slinging her bow over her shoulder to rest alongside her now empty quiver. Being rather short, she found gaining the high ground gave her a great advantage in a fight and now she watched as Farkas climbed the up steps of the dais towards her. She hopped down from her perch upon the warlord’s sarcophagus. “Are you okay?” she queried.

     “Just a couple broken ribs,” his wheezing echoed in the darkened chamber. “I’ll be fine.” He grimaced as he sat down heavily on the edge of the sarcophagus. “Hey wha-?” He broke off as golden restoration magic flowed from the little archer’s fingers and into his side. “Ow,” he said quietly when his bones snapped back into place. He rubbed his side wonderingly. “Hey, that feels pretty good! Thanks!”

     “Little spell I found a while back,” she handed him a stamina potion. “Here, drink this.” _Can’t having him falling asleep on me now. Gotta get back to Jorrvaskr by morning or they’ll start worrying._

     “Only if you heal yourself too, New Blood,” he said, holding the unstoppered bottle up. “I can smell your blood from those skeever bites, and it looks like one of the draugr took a chunk out of your hand as well.”

     Freyja huffed. “You’re just a stubborn as your brother, you know that?”

     “I may not know much,” Farkas took a swig of the potion as he watched the golden healing magics swirl around his companion, “but even I know that’s not true.”

     Freyja staggered a bit as her magic tapped out. It was enough though. Her shins felt whole and even her hand was healed. There was nothing left to show she had even been hurt in the first place. _I’m getting pretty good at this,_ she thought cheerfully. “Come on big guy, I’m exhausted. Let’s head home. We’ve got what we came for.” She carefully wrapped the fragments of the ancient blade, Wuuthrad, in some linen she had found lining an old treasure chest. She handed them reverently over to the big Nord.

     “You sure you’re okay, pup? Your hand is shaking,” Farkas nodded at her quavering digits.

     “Just a bit worn out from the spells. I’ll be alright,” she smiled back at him, pushing open the stone door to the outside world. Darkness had fallen while they were inside the ruins, and she shivered as the cold wind hit her.

     There was a terrible buzzing sound and she was knocked to the ground by a boiling mass of fur and rage. Pain shot through her arm and she screamed. Something else was biting her ankle and she used her other foot to kick at it furiously. She heard a canine yip, and felt bone give way beneath her boot. One down. However, a big cave bear was still savaging her arm and looked down at her with glowing green frenzied eyes.

     “SPRIGGAN! Kill it Farkas!” she screamed. Something was digging into her hip, and realized she still had the Skyforge steel dagger Vilkas had given her weeks before. Using her free arm, she unlatched the sheath and extracted the blade. She took a deep breath, aimed towards the eye, and struck! The sharp steel plunged into the bear’s skull with little resistance. The green fire in it’s remaining eye went out, and it slumped over. She tried to move, but to no avail. The massive corpse was too heavy. _For fuck’s sake! I finally make it out of the blasted tomb, and now I’m going to bleed out under a stupid cave bear!_

     The buzzing noise had died, with meant that the spriggan must have been killed. “Farkas?” she wheezed. _Please let him be okay!_

     The weight shifted off of her, and she gulped in big lungfuls of fresh air.

     “Oh shit,” Farkas said quietly. “You arm.” He knelt on the ground and pulled her onto his lap. “Freyja?” he asked worriedly.

     “I’m going to kill Skjor!” she growled through clenched teeth. “There might still be a potion in the bag... I can’t... I can’t manage another spell.”

     Farkas laughed, brushing some hair away from her face. “You’ve got fire, little pup. Remind me not to cross you.” He reached in the bag he had dropped and rummaged around. There was a tiny red vial, about half full.   “Is that going to be enough?” He sounded worried, as he pulled open the bottle. 

     “I’ll make do,” she hissed. The liquid burned her throat on its way down. She groaned and slumped back in his arms while her bones and muscles knitted back together. Her wounds didn’t close, but the bleeding slowed. She would make it to Whiterun at least.   She patted Farkas’s big thigh affectionately. “Let’s get moving. I’m about to drop, and I’d prefer to be in my bed rather than on the roadside.”

     Farkas gave her a hand up and steadied her when she swayed. “Um... no,” he shook his head. “You’re worn out and I’m not too much better. We’re gonna find a nice place nearby to make camp, and we’ll head back at first light.” Without giving her a chance to argue, he took her uninjured hand and pulled her up the steps of the cairn, occasionally giving her a worried glance over his shoulder.

     They found a small place by the road with a big boulder they could put their backs to. Whiterun glowed in the distance. It looked so close, but Freyja knew the trek across the plains would be too dangerous at night.  

     Farkas got to work building a small fire, while Freyja went to the little stream nearby and cleaned the blood off her armor and weapons. The last thing they needed was a sabre cat tracking them down. Her heart sank as she took in her destroyed bracer and shredded boot. _I can’t afford new armor... Maybe Eorlund will let me help out in trade for a repair._ She tore up her mostly clean handkerchief and bandaged her forearm as best as she could. Returning to their campsite, she trudged to the fireside and sank down on the prickly grass gratefully. They hadn’t brought any bedrolls, since they hadn’t been planning on it being an overnight trip. Farkas improvised by removing his cuirass and undershirt. He balled up the shirt and placed it on the ground.

     “Sleep,” he ordered the whelp. He didn’t seem to mind going bare-chested in the frigid air.

     Too tired to protest, Freyja lay down on the ground and placed her head on the makeshift pillow. “It smells like dog,” she wrinkled her nose.

     “Watch it, New Blood,” Farkas smirked. “Just because you saved my ass doesn’t mean you get to sass me.” He withdrew an apple from the pack and held it out to the little Nord woman. When she shook her head, he shrugged, and took a bite of the crisp fruit.

     “I didn’t do anything,” Freyja shifted so that she lay on her side, facing her companion. “You would have been fine without me.” She yawned.

     Farkas shook his head. “Against all those draugr? I don’t think so. Besides, I like having you with me. You’re sneaky, and smart. I wish we could always fight together!” He looked at his half eaten apple sadly. “Last time I went out on my own, there was this gate. Some sort of riddle. There was a book nearby, but I didn’t know most of the words.” His shoulders gave a little shrug. “Usually I can get the combination after a few tries, but this one was too tricky. I had to go back without finding the artifact I was looking for.” He took another crunch of his apple, and threw the core out into the night. “I know if I could have just read that book, I could have figured it out.”

     Freyja looked up at him sadly. The firelight flickered in his eyes and his dirty, scruffy face looked so downtrodden. It broke her heart. “I could teach you, you know,” she said softly.

     He gave her a forlorn look. “Thanks, Freyja,” his mouth quirked down in a frown and his lip looked in danger of trembling. “It’s no use though. I'm not smart enough, I guess. Kodlak and Vilkas both tried teaching me, but I just can't get the hang of it. I can’t sit still long enough to focus on something like that.” He sighed and poked the fire with a stick sending little flecks of light drifting up into the cold night.

     Freyja reached out and placed a hand on his forearm. “You’re plenty smart, Farkas. I’ve known you long enough to see that. You just learn in a different way is all. My father was like that.”

     “Yeah?” he asked. A ghost of a smile graced his lips.

     “Yeah,” she nodded affirmatively, ignoring the pang in her heart. “It took a lot of patience, and hard work, but eventually he could read just as well as my mother could, though he never liked it very much. He was more of a fighter, too. The important thing was, he could read if he needed to.”

     “Hmm... and you think you could teach me?” he mused, a smile ghosting his lips.

     “I do,” she yawned and closed her eyes. “But not right now. I’m tired.”

     “Alright, little pup,” she heard his warm chuckle next to her. “Get some rest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What will happen when Freyja and Farkas return? Dun dun duhhhhhhnnnn!
> 
> (is that suspenseful enough?)


	10. The Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freyja and Farkas return to Jorrvaskr for her oath ceremony...

      The trek from Dustman’s Cairn had been slow and arduous. Neither Freyja nor Farkas had slept particularly well on the rough ground. They had awoken in the morning to a great many aches and pains. Farkas tried to keep her mind occupied during their journey by explaining to her all the finer points of lycanthropy. She found herself fascinated, though she grew annoyed when he kept asking her over and over if she were okay. He made them stop for rest breaks much more often than usual, saying that the little whelp still looked unwell. As it was, they didn’t make it back to Whiterun until late in the day.

     Freyja's heart leapt with excitement when she saw Vilkas waiting at the top of the stairs. The setting sun shone across the Wind District and illuminated his freshly polished armor, making him look like a warrior god gazing down on his underlings with scorn.

_Wait... scorn?_

     "You're finally back," he stated to the bedraggled pair approaching him.

     "Yeah," Farkas answered. They came to a stop in front of the doors to Jorrvaskr. "We ran into a few issues on the way and it took us a while. Freyja here did really well." He grinned down and the little archer.

     "I'm sure she did," Vilkas growled, narrowing his eyes at her. His warpaint was applied with extra care and his hair looked freshly combed. Clearly something was up.

     "Alright, what is going on?" Freyja was completely bewildered. Before she left, she and Vilkas had actually been getting along rather well. He was disappointed she had to go back out so soon, but obviously her first real test took precedence. So while they hadn’t had a chance to be alone, things had at least been pleasant.

     "Did you get the shards?" he asked his brother, completely ignoring Freyja's question.

     "Yeah..." Farkas answered. He was clearly confused by his twin's behavior as well. "Vilkas, what-"

     "Go get yourselves cleaned up! We're meeting in the training yard after sunset for the whelp's Oath Ceremony." Vilkas stormed off down the stairs, making sure to slam into his brother's shoulder for good measure.

     "What in Oblivion is his problem?" Freyja asked. She thought he would have been happy to see her return victorious.

     Farkas shook his head. "I have no idea."

 

* * *

  
     Freyja leaned against a pillar and glared at Vilkas as the celebration carried on around them. He sat at the table with his third tankard of mead and glared back. She had been hoping he would be the one to stand for her during her Oath Ceremony, but was now grateful it had been his brother instead.  

     Farkas had been so full of pride and warmth, and she had no doubt that he meant every word he said. He was so much more reliable than his moody twin, who right now looked like he'd throw her to her foes rather than fight them!  

     Vilkas hadn't said one word during the ceremony and had stalked off in a huff as soon as it was concluded, stubbornly ignoring his brother's attempts to talk to him.

     It stung more than she cared to admit.

     "Freyja!" Aela crashed into her, making her spill some of her mead and causing her shoulder to throb. "Farkas told me all about it! Izza'mazing!" she slurred. "Silver Hand and draugr and spriggans and wild animals! Truly a test for a great warrior!" she was hugging Freyja now and lay her head on top of the shorter woman’s. "We're going to be great shield sisters. Hey!" she gasped, pushing Freyja to arm’s length. "We should go hunting sometime! I bet together we could take down a mammoth!"

     "Sounds like fun, Aela," Freyja smiled at the drunken huntress and gave her a pat on the arm. Aela rewarded her with a lopsided smile, and wandered off to go jabber at Torvar. _Wouldn’t have pegged her for such an affectionate drunk. I guess this is a night for surprising behavior all around._

     Freyja turned her attention back to Vilkas, who, if possible, was staring at her with even more venom than before! She let out a growl of frustration. Clearly he was not about to explain himself or apologize. Feeling too exhausted to continue caring, she plopped herself down in a chair and decided to ignore him for the rest of the evening. Ria sat on a bench to the side, crying on a clearly uncomfortable Skjor's shoulder.

     "I k-kill a bear, and she kills a d-dragon!" She sobbed. "I retrieve a ru-rusty heirloom, and sh-she rescues his brother a-and Wuuthrad from nineteen draugr! I can't wi-win!" Her warpaint was smeared.

     "It's not a competition," Skjor explained. He turned to look at the young Imperial with his good eye. "and Vilkas is not one to be won over by deeds."

     "Then what does he want?" she looked up at the older warrior tearfully.

     He shrugged, making his steel armor clank.

     "You're no help at all!" Ria snapped. She stood up and fled out the door.  

     “I never said I was” Skjor grumbled to himself.

     Freyja rolled her eyes. While she could empathize with the Ria’s pain, she also thought the girl was being over dramatic. _She must have had an easy life, to waste her tears on something so trivial._ Freyja frowned and took a sip of her mead. She had only had half a flagon, but her head was already pounding.

     "To Freyja!" Torvar shouted suddenly, holding up his bottle of mead. "She may seem unimpressive... but she sure gets the job done!"

     "Hear hear!" Njada cheered, much to everyone's surprise.

     "YEEAHH!" Aela roared. Sloshing her mead into the air.

     "To Freyja!" Athis translated. “A glorious addition to our company, indeed!”  he winked at her, clearly trying to smooth over Torvar’s less than flattering toast.

     The Companions, even Vignar, Brill and Tilma, raised their drinks toward the little Nord in the corner. Standing, she raised hers in response, and they all drank. The whole thing made her homesick for the Ashlander tribes, but for once she didn't mind the feeling as much. The party continued, and she gratefully retreated back into her quiet corner.

     "Vilkas!” Freyja looked up to see Aela striding the sulking Nord. _Oh this should be interesting..._

     "You!" she pointed at her Shield-brother. “You should be enjoying the celebration. Not glow... glower... not being a grump!”

     "Go away, Aela," he said through clenched teeth. "You're drunk."

     She smirked, grabbed a wooden bowl and placed it upside down on top of his head. "There! With the Bowl of Happiness on your head, you can no longer be grouchy." She smiled with pride.

     Vilkas closed his eyes. "AELA!" he growled. “Get out of here or I swear to Hircine...”

     Aela pouted as the Skjor appeared at her side and pulled her away. He whispered something in her ear that elicited a smile.  

     Kodlak walked by and chuckled. "It suits you," he gestured to the wooden bowl atop Vilkas's head. The young warrior took the bowl of angrily and set it on the table.  

     The Harbinger walked over to Freyja and lay a weathered hand on her shoulder. “I’m glad to have you in our ranks,” his eyes crinkled in a smile. “I feel as though you will bring a change for the better.” He gave her shoulder another pat, then made his way downstairs for the night.

     Vilkas's eyes locked with Freyja's and he turned red. With a roar, he leapt to his feet. The hall fell silent. He glared at everybody and stomped down the stairs toward the living quarters. After a moment, the chatter started up again. _Apparently, this behavior isn’t a rare occurrence._

     "I guess 'A' is for 'Asshole'" Farkas grumbled sitting down in the chair next to Freyja. "Thanks for the book, by the way. And you’re right. Drawing out the letters does help."

     “My pleasure” she smiled. When they had returned, she had searched through her meager belongings to see if she picked up anything suitable for teaching Farkas. She was happy to find a battered copy of _ABC’s for Barbarians_ , that she had initially intended to give to Mila. She figured Farkas would make better use of it. "Feel free to let me know anytime you want to study. I'd be happy to go over things with you. Maybe we could even combine our training. I’ll teach you letters while you teach me to fight."

     "Hey, that sounds like fun!" he grinned, giving her a thump on the back so solid it sent a pang through her ribs. His nostrils flared and he frowned. "You sure you’re feelin' okay, New Blood?"

     "Yeah," she nodded with a yawn. "Just tired I think. Probably from dealing with your brother all evening."

     Farkas snorted. "Yeah, something’s sure got his loincloth in a bunch!" He took a sip of his ale. "Things are starting to get a little crazy up here." Aela was now making out with Skjor quite vigorously in the corner. "I don't think anyone would really notice if you snuck off and went to bed early."

     "Good idea, Farkas."

     He beamed.

     She gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek, which made him blush. She raised her hand in farewell to Athis and Torvar, who were playing drums in the corner while Njada sang. The three warriors gave her a nod or smile goodnight, and she couldn't help but smile in return.

     The living quarters were blissfully dark and serene after the chaos upstairs...

     Except for growling noise from down the hall.

     _Enough!_ Freyja decided. _I’m tired of his little temper tantrums._ She steeled her nerves and walked down the hall. It was cold down here. Cold enough to make her bones ache. She cursed her Breton blood. She had managed to inherit her mother’s stature and inability to tolerate frost, but got none of the wonderful magic aptitude that made up for it. _I didn’t even have enough magicka to properly heal myself._ She glanced down at her arm. Tilma had cleaned and dressed the wound, but it was still burning. She hoped it didn’t fester.

     The door to Vilkas’s room was open, but she knew better than to enter. She stood at the door and knocked on the frame.

     He looked so small, curled up in the corner of his bed without his armor. “Go away,” he slurred drunkenly, head in his hands. Clearly something had really upset him.

     She was somewhat taken aback. _What in the world did I do?_ She cleared her throat with a slight cough. “I just wanted to check in and see if you were okay. You seemed... troubled.”

     He snorted. “Troubled. Aye.” His piercing gaze locked on hers. “Just get away from me, Freyja. I can’t stand to look at you.” Suddenly he stood up and, quick as lightning, slammed the door in her stricken face.

     Freyja felt rage and indignation rise up within her, but it was quickly doused by exhaustion. Shaking her head, she turned back towards her quarters. She was so tired. Tired of fighting, tired of trudging across the land, tired of the damn politics in this country. Most of all she was tired of Vilkas and his demanding, prideful, volatile personality. She collapsed into bed and closed her eyes, cursing the man with every fiber of her being.

     She had almost fallen asleep, when she heard big boots creeping toward her in the darkness. The candle on her nightstand flared to life and she looked up to see Farkas looming over her.

     “Something wrong?” She asked, sitting up. It had grown warm in the room since she had lain down.

     “I was sittin‘ up there thinkin‘... and I realized you hadn’t eaten since before we went into that Cairn. So I thought I’d bring you some food down,” he set a plate on the little nightstand next to her. “Might make you feel better.”

     Freyja took a slice of apple and smiled at him. “Thanks, Farkas. You’ve made me feel infinitely better.” She popped the wedge in her mouth. She wasn’t particularly hungry, but she thought it would be rude not to eat after he had been so thoughtful.

     “Was it so bad before?” he asked, handing her a cup of spiced wine.

     She gave him a meaningful glare before taking a sip of the drink. It burned going down her throat, but tasted wonderful with the apple.

     The bed sank under Farkas’s weight as he sat on the edge. “What did he say?” he asked wearily.

     “He... he said he couldn’t stand to look at me.” Freyja normally kept better control of her emotions, but she was so exhausted. She had been looking forward to coming back home to Vilkas, and his behavior toward her had hurt more than she had expected. Her lip quivered and she felt her eyes well up and overflow. _Damn it, you weren’t supposed to get attached,_ she reminded herself. Grief washed over her and she could feel panic bubbling under the surface.

     “Oh gods, please don’t cry, Little Pup,” Farkas pleaded.

     “Sorry,” she whispered, rubbing her eyes. _He’s right. I need to pull myself together. I can’t start falling apart. I won’t be able to stop..._ “Really it’s nothing,” she tried to focus on anything other than the emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

     “No, don’t you be sorry. It’s him that should be sorry.” He ground his teeth. “You’ve done nothing wrong, and don’t deserve to be treated like that!” He stood up with squared shoulders and clenched fists.

     “Farkas, don’t bother. Please, it’s not worth it,” Freyja tried to pacify him.

     He nodded at her. “Yeah, it is.” His tone was heavy with authority and his eyes burned with an intensity that rivaled his brother’s. He turned and stomped down the hall. She heard Farkas pounding on his brother’s door.

     “Go away!” Vilkas’s voice was muffled.

     Farkas growled. “Get your scrawny ass out here!”

     “What did you say to me?” Freyja heard Vilkas spit venomously. It sounded like he had opened his door.

     “You heard me!” Farkas rumbled menacingly. “What makes you think you can speak to Freyja that way?”

     “I don’t want to talk about it,” Vilkas groused. "Especially with _you!_ " He stormed down the hall.

     “Hey!” Farkas snapped, hot on his heels. “Don’t you walk away from me!”

     “Try and stop me!” Vilkas roared, slamming through the door to the mead hall.

     Farkas growled, sounding more lupine than human. He spun and looked at Freyja with burning yellow eyes. “Stay here,” he ordered. He turned and followed his brother upstairs.

     _Fine by me,_ she thought. Already fuzzy from the mead, she drained the wine Farkas had brought. She lay there, purposefully thinking of nothing and ignoring the crashing sounds from overhead, until she passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a beast to write! Let me know what you think! Next chapter will be coming soon!


	11. Cold Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the morning after Freyja's disasterous Oath Ceremony and not all is well...

     The icy rain pelted down as Vilkas swung his greatsword at the practice dummy. The steel blade sank into the wooden head with a satisfying _thunk!_ His hands slipped on the hilt and he cursed his hangover and the foul weather. Repositioning his grip, he managed to yank the weapon out and examined the now dulled edge with disappointment. He’d have to take it up to the Skyforge so Eorlund could sharpen it again.

     The great doors to the mead hall swung open, and Freyja walked out. Instead of her usual studded armor, she was clad in a simple mossy green linen dress that matched her eyes. Her dark hair fell in a thick braid that brushed the back of her hips. Vilkas suddenly felt a mess, and ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to tame it. This only served to remind him that he was sopping wet, and so he gave up any hopes of looking presentable. Thunder rumbled over the mountains to the south.

     The girl seemed not to notice him, and settled down in one of the wooden chairs under the roof. Closing her eyes, she buried her head in her hands with a sigh. Maybe she was ignoring him. He couldn’t blame her, after the way he had acted the previous night at her Oath Ceremony. He felt he should apologize, but was unsure how to approach her. He could never tell if she were mad at him, or just had other things on her mind. _She was a closed book. Probably safe to assume she’s mad this time though,_ he thought. Dejected, he turned to continue his practice, when he heard a groan. “What’s wrong, New Blood?” he called over the downpour. “Celebrate a bit too much last night?”

     She shook her head, and then whimpered. It was a weak, pained sound he was not used to hearing from the hunter. That was when he noticed how badly she was trembling. He dropped his sword and hurried to her side, alarmed. “Freyja?” he asked, worriedly.  

     Her bloodshot eyes looked up at him. “I’m fine,” she insisted, through gritted teeth. She swallowed heavily as a shudder rippled through her frame.

     He crouched down and searched her face. There was a slight sheen of sweat covering her pallid skin. This was no mere hangover. “You’re ill!” his eyebrows knitted together.

     “You sound so shocked. I suppose the mighty Vilkas never gets ill,” she said sarcastically.

     “I don’t,” he answered, disregarding her insolence. He was just glad she was talking to him at all. _It’s more than I deserve after how I acted last night._ She snorted, which turned into a groan as she clutched her side with her right arm. “Because such weakness as disease could never take down one of the Companions?”

     He looked around to make sure no one else was within earshot, “Not if he’s a werewolf.”   


* * *

 

  
     “Oh.” Understanding dawned upon Freyja. She had almost forgotten that the man before her had the ability to change into a hulking, bloodthirsty beast. _Though I supposes it fits right in with his personality._ She shivered.

     “Come on,” Vilkas said, standing up. “You shouldn’t be out in this weather.” It seemed funny coming from someone who was drenched to the bone and wearing nothing but a simple pair of brown linen pants.

     She closed her eyes on the lovely view and sat back, tilting her face up to the sky. “But it’s so nice and cold,” she sighed. The inside of the hall had seemed hot and the light from the fire had made her head pound. Now the icy rain was blissfully misting upon her face from the overhang of the porch.  

     He noted the thick bandage under her left sleeve. “Your wounds haven’t healed?” 

     She shook her head, “I don’t have the energy.” 

     “Let me see.” 

     With a shaking hand, she reached over to roll up her sleeve. She began fumbling with the poorly wrapped bandages, when Vilkas’s growl of frustration stopped her. 

     He took over as she slumped back in her chair.  

     Jagged wounds covered her forearm, and many of them were still seeping blood. His calloused hands felt cool upon her tender, swollen skin. “Ysmir’s beard, Freyja! What happened?”  

     “Bear,” she winced. Her arm was burning and aching more fiercely than she cared to admit.   

     Vilkas knelt in front of her chair so he could look her in the eyes. “Freyja, these wounds look angry. And bears carry all sorts of diseases.” He rested the back of his hand against her cheek and frowned. “You’re running a fever. How do you feel?” 

     “Awful,” she mumbled.  

     He rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. “Can you be more specific?” 

     “I feel weak, and everything hurts,” she admitted, cringing as his thumb brushed over a particularly large gash. “Especially my head. And my hands won’t stop shaking.”  

     “Your hands?” He looked up sharply, “Did you get bitten by a Skeever?”  

     She nodded and closed her eyes. _I’m so tired. Can’t he just leave me alone?_

     “Freyja!” he barked, bringing her back to attention. “Were you injured by anything else?”

     “Draugr bit my hand, and a wolf got my ankle. I healed all the wounds. The bear bites...” she took a shuddering breath as a wave of dizziness hit her. “...those were too severe for my skill.”  

     Vilkas cursed quietly and stood up, “We should get you to a shrine.”

     “Shrines only work for their followers. The gods and I are not on good terms.” Freyja tried to dismiss the sadness in her voice with a shrug. She didn’t feel like discussing her lack of faith, especially with him. “Just let me be. You don’t have to pretend to be concerned. I know how you can’t stand to look at me.” She lifted her head and gave him a glare for good measure.

     Hurt flashed in Vilkas’s eyes. For a minute, Freyja thought he was going to apologize. He clenched his jaw as he looked around at the dark gray sleet. The thunder crashed again. He shook his head and went into the mead hall.   
  
     _I figured as much,_ she slumped back in the chair letting the freezing rain mist over her fevered skin. _At least now we can both suffer in peace._

     She heard the doors creak open again, and stirred. It was much cooler than she realized _. When did it start snowing?_

     “Get up,” Vilkas ordered.

     “What?” She opened an eye at looked up at him blearily. Much to her dismay, he had put on a shirt. His hair seemed drier and she wondered just how long he had been inside. “I’m fine Vilkas, really.” The rough wooden chair under her was far from comfortable, but it was still world’s better than actually moving. She felt like her very bones were on fire, burning her from the inside out.

     “I’m taking you to Arcadia’s Cauldron.” he announced. “I checked my books, and I think you have Bone Break Fever... possibly Ataxia as well. We need potions.” He held out a long navy blue cloak lined in wolf fur. There was an insistent look on his face.

     “Vilkas, no. I don’t...” she didn’t want to admit she couldn’t afford a healing potion. She still hadn’t gotten paid for the job with Farkas, and before that she had been on the roads with Janessa and Delphine. Unfortunately, it seemed neither the Blades nor the Greybeards believed in monetary compensation.  

     “No arguments, alright, Little One? Let me help you for once,” his voice suddenly sounded deeper, and warm.  

     It had been so long since someone had spoken to her with such concern. _Not since Father..._ She didn’t trust herself to say anything so she simply nodded and struggled to her feet. Her knees quickly buckled as the world swayed. He caught her in his arms and steadied her, wrapping the cloak around her. It was far too long and pooled around her feet. _It must belong to him._  

     “On second thought, maybe I should get you to bed. I can send Tilma to Arcadia’s,” Vilkas frowned.

     He smelled like wet earth, mead and smoke, and she breathed him in as he scooped her up. She lay her head on his shoulders and closed her eyes, letting her consciousness drift in and out.    


* * *

      
     Freyja’s head was splitting open and her bones felt like they were made of shattered glass. She sobbed.

     “Shh... I know, love. It will feel better soon,” a deep voice soothed.  

_Wait.... ‘love?‘ I must be delirious!_ Her eyes fluttered open and she saw Vilkas hovering over her.

     “There you are.” His tone was warm, though his expression remained worried.

     “Where’s Tilma?” Freyja questioned. It seemed like the old woman would be the one taking care of her, not the haughty young warrior who had treated her with such disdain the night before.

     “She’s gone to Arcadia’s,” he explained.

     “Oh, so that’s why you’re taking care of me,” she slurred, trying to push the blankets down. She was so warm!

     “I’m taking care of you because you need taking care of. Now stop being so stubborn and lie still!” There was an intensity to his voice that she daren’t disobey. He lay a hand on her forehead. “Damn! You’re still burning up.” He wet a cloth in a bowl of water on the bedside table, and laid it on her forehead.

     “I’m surprised you didn’t just let me die,” she mumbled. “You certainly seemed to want that last night.”

     He winced. “Ah, that.” he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I had... been mislead as to your reasons for returning so late.”

     She watched with satisfaction as his face turned bright red. _He should feel embarrassed_ , she thought. “Explain,” she demanded.

     “Well, you were late...” he sighed, looking away guiltily. “And there was talk that you and Farkas were having a celebration of your own. And then when you finally returned, you had Farkas’s scent all over you.”

     “Of all the stupid reasons-” Freyja groaned. “Who on earth would think I was interested in Farkas?” 

     “Ria,” Vilkas admitted, “though I think it was more wishful thinking on her end.”

_I am going to strangle that girl!_ Freyja made a valiant effort to sit up. _I can’t believe I almost felt sorry for her!_  

     “By the gods, woman! Calm down before you hurt yourself!” VIilkas placed his strong calloused hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her back into the pillows. “Besides” he added, “I should have known better than to listen to her. I think she's a bit jealous of you, and I also think she may have been trying to get back at me for turning down her advances, again. Anyway...” He repositioned the cold cloth that she had knocked off. “Farkas set me straight... rather forcefully too!” He rubbed his jaw and she noticed for the first time that a dark bruise had blossomed under the stubble along the jawline on his left side.

     “You deserved that you know,” she said.

     “Aye,” he nodded.

     She reached up with a shaking hand and ran her thumb over the bruise, “I’d heal you if I could.”

     He looked surprised for a moment, and then his expression melted into something warmer. Almost loving. He gently brushed his hand down her cheek, with eyes full of tenderness and she caught her breath. She was unaccustomed to such gentleness from the gruff warrior. 

     “Why do you keep rejecting Ria?” she mumbled, eyes growing heavy as she fought to remain awake.  

     “Ria is a sweet girl, but she tries too hard to make everyone like her. I need someone more straightforward,” Vilkas looked away and she saw a smirk play at the corners of his mouth.  

     “You mean, someone who’s not afraid to call you out when you’re being an ass?” Freyja’s laugh turned into a whimper.  

     “Precisely,” Vilkas frowned.  

     Freyja clenched her jaw as pain flared through her. The room spun and she was thankful her stomach was empty. She hadn’t been this sick since she was sixteen and caught Droops from a scrib while on a hunting trip with Zinnat and her father. She had spent weeks laying in bed, while her mother cared for her.   _A favor I had to return._ She gritted her teeth and fought back the tears in her eyes. _It’s been almost a year, get yourself together._

     “What’s wrong?” Vilkas furrowed his brows.  

     Freyja sighed and closed her eyes. “I just hate being sick.”  

     He brushed her hair back from her sweaty forehead. “Get some rest, New Blood. Tilma will be back soon.”  

     Freyja had already fallen asleep.    


* * *

  
       Vilkas heard footsteps approach.  “How is the girl?” Kodlak stood in the doorway. He wouldn’t cross into Vilkas’s room uninvited. Even if it had once been his own room in his younger days. 

     Vilkas looked up at the Harbinger as if the past thirty years had never happened. He was still a lost little boy searching for comfort. “I’m worried. She’s getting much worse and Tilma still hasn’t returned.”

     “Cures are not made instantaneously, my boy.” Kodlak said gently, “And there are a number of sick people in town. I imagine her stock was running fairly low.” 

     Freyja was writhed on the bed, crying out.   Vilkas held her down gently. “She’s delirious. I’m afraid she’s going to hurt herself, if she hasn’t already. She already reopened a few wounds and they soaked through two sets of bandages before the bleeding finally stopped.”

     “May I?” Kodlak gestured toward the room.  

     Vilkas nodded. 

     The older man knelt down by the little whelp, observing her for a moment. “There are some frost salts in the case in my study,” he announced. “Sprinkle them in a bowl of water and it should be more effective at getting her fever down.”  

     “Thank you, Harbinger.” Vilkas felt relief at being able to do _something_. He retrieved the costly ingredient and mixed it in a small basin with some cool, clean water he found in the hall. There was a soft chiming sound and blue-white crystals formed throughout the water as the bowl chilled in his hands.  As he walked back to his room, he heard Freyja scream and quickened his pace.  

     Kodlak was had a his arm laid across the thrashing girl, “It’s alright, dear. You’re safe,” he murmured.  

     She trembled and cried, sounding terrified. “Please no!” her voice was small, begging. “Not Vilkas,” tears leaked from her eyes.  

     Vilkas’s heart stuttered.  

     Kodlak turned to him and raised an eyebrow, “I think she’s worried about you.” 

     Vilkas set the icy bowl down on the wooden side table. “It’s the fever. She doesn’t know what she’s saying,” he grumbled, trying to hide the blush that had crept up his cheeks.  

     “And yet,” Kodlak mused, “this is the second time you’ve brought her into your room. Your territory.” 

     Vilkas flashed back to the day the dragon attacked the Western Watchtower. The guard had laid Freyja down in front of him, pale as death and covered in so much blood... “What of it?” he huffed. 

     “Nothing,” Kodlak, pushed himself up from the bed so Vilkas could take his place. “I am merely noting that when it comes to this particular whelp, you seem to be more involved than usual.”  

     “I just don’t want the others disturbing her,” Vilkas insisted, placing a frigid cloth on the girl’s head.  

     “You are protecting her.” 

     “Some would say it’s almost like a wolf protecting its mate,” a familiar voice chimed in.   Tilma stood in the doorway and smiled at the men.  

     “Yes, some _would_ say that,” Kodlak’s eyes twinkled at her. 

     Vilkas chose to ignore their comments. “Did you get the potions?”  

     “Yes, dear. Here you go,” her gnarled hands held out two bottles. “One is a cure and the other will relieve her pain and help her sleep.”  

     Vilkas took the vessels from her. “Thank you.”

     Kodlak helped Tilma out of her heavy cloak, his hand lingering just a beat longer than necessary on her shoulder. “I am glad to see you weathered the storm,” he said quietly.

     Tilma swatted the Harbinger playfully on his arm and the spell between them was broken. “Oh! You know it would take more than a little wind and snow to bother me.” 

     A whimper made Vilkas turn his attention back to Freyja. Her breathing was frantic and she was shaking. “It’s alright, Freyja, we’re here.” Vilkas cupped her pale cheek.   She stilled.  

     “I told you!” Tilma whispered to the Harbinger. 

     "Yes, it is interesting,” he murmured.  

     Vilkas cleared his throat, and glared over his shoulder at the older couple before turning back to the girl. “Freyja, listen to me.” 

     Her eyelashes fluttered, “Vilkas?” Her voice was weak and slurred. 

     “Freyja, I’m going to need you to drink this.”  

      “Can’t,” she shook her head.  

     “I’ll help you,” he assured her.   He slid an arm under her shoulders and lifted her, sliding in to sit behind her. She felt like fire leaning back against his chest. Tilma handed him the glass bottles. With a bit of coaxing he managed to get Freyja to drink both of them. He tried to move so she could lie back down but she whined and put a hand on his leg.  

     “Looks like you are staying put, my boy,” Kodlak chuckled.  

     Vilkas scowled. “I guess so.”  

     “I’ll see to it that your other duties are covered,” The Harbinger gave a nod before sauntering out the room.  

     Tilma bent down and kissed Vilkas on the top of the head. It was a sign of affection reserved only for the twins she had practically raised. Mercifully, as they got older she had refrained from doting on them in front of the other Companions. “Let me know if you need anything, dear.” 

     “We’ll be fine,” Vilkas assured her. “Just go get yourself warmed up.”

     “Alright,” her eyes crinkled and she gave him a pat on the shoulder before leaving.  

     Vilkas slid down and made himself a bit more comfortable.  

     Freyja snuggled into him, laying her head on his broad chest with a contented sigh.  

     He smiled.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOOO sorry for the long delay! Our router broke and then we were out of town for a week, so I didn't have a chance to finish until now! I made sure it was a meaty chapter to try and make up for the wait. I hope you all enjoyed!


	12. Closer to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the weather gets colder, things between Vilkas and Freyja get hotter...

     Freyja sat on the edge of the short stone wall in front of Jorrvaskr, looking out over the city that had become her home. The children had asked her to play tag with them, but she still was still recovering from her illness and didn’t quite feel up to her full strength. She had politely declined and now watched them run around the town center instead. The late autumn air was brisk, and she clutched her new cloak about her tightly. Before heading on his latest job, Vilkas had left it at the foot of her bed, accompanied by a little note that simply said “ _Stay warm._ ” The cloak was a linen in her favorite dark green, treated with a bit of beeswax to make it moisture resistant and trimmed with soft, gray rabbit’s fur. A cold wind blew across the plains turning her cheeks red, but the rest of her was cozy and warm.  

     Heimskr’s latest sermon echoed up from the square. _He sounds a bit hoarse. Perhaps I should take him something to drink?_ she mused. Her heart bore no great love for Talos -or any of the gods she felt had abandoned her- but she admired the priest for his courage and appreciated him for being a constant thorn in the Thalmor’s side. She decided he could do with a bottle of mead. 

     A familiar figure walked under the Gildergreen and she smiled, all thoughts of the preacher wiped from her mind. Lars, Mila, and Braith were still running around playing their game, and nearly crashed into the lone warrior. He dodged them with a scowl. 

     “Be careful!” Vilkas snarled at the children. The kids stopped running, and walked away, no doubt looking for a place to play away from the warrior’s wrath. Braith made a rude gesture behind Vilkas’s back as she departed.  

     Freyja’s giggle echoed across the wind district, grabbing the werewolf’s attention. He turned his cool gaze up to his prey, and strode up the slope. Walking right up to the little Dovahkiin, he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her against him, letting out a low rumble as their lips met. Freyja’s arms reached around his waist, ignoring the cold that bit through the linen of her sleeves, and pulled his hips closer. He deepened the kiss and trailed a hand down the side of her neck, raising goosebumps along the flesh with his cold fingers. She shivered and he pulled back. He rested his forehead upon hers and tried to tame his own ragged breathing. Her face was flushed and her fingers clenched at the cold steel of his armor. _If I move at all, I’ll lose control and jump him in front of the whole town!_ She licked her lips nervously and her heart thundered in her ears.  

     “You’re back” she said when she could finally manage to speak.  

     He straightened and gave her a soft smile. “Aye,” he said, cupping her face in his cool hands. “Feeling better?” His gray eyes searched her green ones, as if he would find an answer in them. He had left the day after she got sick, which was nearly a week ago. He had been driving everyone crazy at the mead hall with his restlessness and worry, until a job had mercifully come up in Dawnstar Hold. Farkas had practically pushed his brother out the door, much to the relief of the rest of The Companions.  

     Freyja leaned her head into his hand and closed her eyes. He smelled of blood and sweat. She didn’t want to admit actually feeling attached to someone, but she had missed him. “I’m still tired,” she confessed. In actuality, she had hardly slept at all since he left. When the nightmares struck, he hadn’t been around to soothe her and she found herself feeling terribly cold and alone. Farkas had been up one of nights and she had found he and his lute to be peaceful company, but it had ended up making her miss Vilkas all the more.  

     “And what about you?” she opened her eyes and took in his appearance. He looked like he had had a rough go of it as well. She reached up and gently traced her finger over a large gash on his head. It ran from just below his hairline down to his brow bone. She frowned, “Why didn’t you drink a healing potion?”  

     Vilkas shrugged. “Not worth wasting a potion on. It’ll heal on its own.”  

     Freyja huffed, blowing a stray curl out of her face. “You’ll have a scar.” 

     “So?” Vilkas smirked. He slid his hands down her sides to rest on her full hips. “I think you’d like my scars.” He gave her a little squeeze. “Besides,” one of his hands slid back up and his thumb softly stroked the spiral brand on her cheek, “scars tell the world who we are.” The hand came back down again and a long finger trailed up her thigh following the line of the scar from her first dragon battle. “They remind us what we’ve survived,” he murmured. 

     Freyja trembled, and licked her lips. _Gods, woman! Get a hold of yourself! You’re in public!_ She took a deep breath and looked back up at the head wound. “And what is that scar going to say about you?” she asked. 

     “Ah, this one,” he grimaced. “It will say ‘watch out for trip wires, or you might get a log to the head.’” 

     Freyja rolled her eyes. “Maybe if you actually learned to sneak properly, you wouldn’t trigger so many traps!” She re-wrapped herself in the cloak as the cold wind buffeted her.  

     “Sneaking is for thieves and assassins!” Vilkas said haughtily. “I just forgot to look where I was going.” 

     “Because you were undoubtedly running full blast with your sword drawn, for all the world to hear!” Freyja answered knowingly.  

     Vilkas scowled. He clearly hated when she was right. “It worked,” he grumbled. 

     “Says the man with his head split open,” she shook her head, exasperated.  

     He grunted and crossed his arms, lifting his chin, which also had a sizable cut on it. “I see you found the cloak. Is it suitable?”  

     Being in a rare good mood, she decided not to needle him any further. Burying her face in the soft gray fur around the collar she felt a little smile creep onto her face. “It’s perfect,” she confessed.  

     “Good,” Vilkas scowled and gave a playful little tug on the end of her thick braid. “Now maybe you’ll return mine.”  

     “It’s already cleaned and back in your room,” she chuckled. _He has to have an attitude even when giving a gift!_ “Oh Vilkas, whatever am I going to do with you?” she sighed.  

     His expression warmed a bit, and he clutched the front of her cloak, bunching the soft fabric in his soft hands. “Actually,” his voice was soft and deep. “That’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” 

     “Oh?” Freyja’s voice cracked. _Curse the gods and my faulty vocal chords!_ Heat crept up into her cheeks. 

     “Yes,” Vilkas’s sharp teeth gleamed as he grinned. Clearly, he relished having the power to reducing her to a pile of quivering ectoplasm. “I got a contract for another job up near Dawnstar. Finding some old family heirloom. Perhaps you would care to join me?”  

     Panic made her stomach twist. She was drawn to Vilkas, and there was no denying she cared for him greatly. But if she went out alone with him it would mean... something. She wasn’t sure she was ready to mean something to him. She knew all to well what the reality of being a Dovahkiin was. Dread filled her at the thought of putting him through that kind of loss.  

     Vilkas’s brow furrowed in frustration as he took in the whelp’s hesitancy. “We could wait a few days, until you’re back to your full strength of course. I don’t think the family needs their sword back right away.” He tucked back the stray curl that had fallen down behind her ear. His eyes pleaded with her, begged her to stay with him.  

    Freyja looked up into his earnest face and felt her doubts weakening. For all his posturing, he really was very kind. “I suppose I could use some time away...”  “I thought so,” he gave her a cocky smirk that flooded her core with fire. _Never mind dragons! This man is going to be the death of me!_  
  


* * *

 

     
     “Where are you headed off to this time, Sister?” Aela finished waxing the bowstring on Freyja’s new Elven bow and handed it back to her. “Try it now,” she said, nodding to the target. 

     Freyja took the weapon and drew it back, finding the string much easier to grip. “Vilkas has a job he wants to take me on, up in Dawnstar hold. We need to find some rusty old artifact.” 

     Njada looked up from where she was cleaning her sword and smirked, causing the tanned skin around her eyes to crinkle. “Would this ‘artifact‘ be in his pants?”  

     The string slipped out of Freyja’s hand and smacked painfully against the soft flesh of her inner forearm. “What!?!?” her face flushed a deep crimson. “Why would you say that?” 

     “Oh right, because you guys have been SO subtle!” The white-haired warrior rolled her eyes. 

     Aela laughed, tossing back her bright red hair back. “I think they’re sweet. I like coming in from a night hunt and seeing them all curled up on a bench surrounded by books.” She shrugged, “And if it makes Vilkas easier to deal with, so much the better. It’s been a while and his ‘artifact’ is probably rather rusty. Could use a polishing I think.” She winked at her fellow archer. 

     “Great,” Freyja rolled her eyes and let an arrow fly at the straw practice target. “I’m glad I could be of service.”

     “That’s what she’ll say to Vilkas,” Njada winked at Aela. The two women busted into raucous laughter at the new blood’s expense.  

     “Are you sure about this, Freyja?” Aela asked, in a more serious tone. “Vilkas isn’t exactly the easiest or most pleasant person to deal with at times.”

     “Oh, I think I can handle him,” Freyja said cooly, knocking another arrow. _I’m not quite as young and naive as they think._ A deep laugh flashed in her memory and for a moment her thoughts were a jumble. Charcoal skin sliding over her ivory in the heat of the plains. Ruby eyes gazing at her under a ashen sky. 

     “So long as you are sure, New Blood,” Njada sighed, snapping Freyja back to the present.  

     “I am.” As the words left her mouth, the eyes in her mind turned from ruby to ice. She turned around and set out to find Vilkas. 

     She was tired of waiting.   
  


* * *

  
     “DAMN YOU, WOMAN!” Vilkas roared, falling to his knees.  

     “Damn me? Damn yourself! You ruined that shot!” Freyja yelled back. 

     Vilkas closed his eyes. “You. shot. me. in. the. BACK!” he growled through his clenched teeth.  

     Watching him sink to all fours, Freyja did feel guilty. “Here, calm down,” she said softly. Stepping over the bodies of the slain bandits strewn across the cavern floor, she made her way over to her fallen comrade. There was a thick, gold Dwarven arrow sticking out of his right shoulder. She bit back a wave of nausea as she saw the blood well up around it. It had gone much deeper than she thought.  

     “Break it” he ordered. They were both battle hardened enough to know that she would need better facilities to remove the arrow head and heal the wound properly. 

     She gave him a nod and braced herself. _Talk to him, distract him._ “It’s your fault you know,” she wrapped her hand around the arrow shaft. “If you had stayed behind me _as I had told you to_ , I could have taken the leader down in one shot before anyone else had noticed.” She snapped the wood about an inch above the wound and he roared. Apologizing profusely, she pulled out her handkerchief and tried best as she could to staunch the bleeding.  

     “They had already heard us,” he panted, pushing her away roughly.  

     “Yes, because you yelled that you were going to tear them to pieces and went sprinting at them waving a giant sword!” She huffed in frustration and began gathering what arrows she could salvage.  

     Vilkas groaned and struggled to his feet. Looking around, he frowned and picked up his fallen sword. “This is not how I expected this to go,” he admitted gruffly.  

     Freyja walked up the little slope to an old wooden chest half-buried in the dirt. “I assume you were hoping to be the one shooting?” she said slyly. She gave him a sideways glance and was rewarded with a snort of pained laughter. _Well at least he’s not too angry any me,_ she thought as she deftly picked the lock on the chest.  

     “You’re rather good at that,” Vilkas commented, walking up to her. “Should I be worried? I hope I’m not going to lose you to the Thieves Guild!”  

     She drew the ancient Orcish dagger out of the chest with a flourish. “No worries there, Vilkas. I’m no thief.” She handed the heirloom to him and he strapped it to his belt as she continued. “I had a rather resourceful childhood friend. He just happened to teach me a few things before my family moved from Riften to Morrowind. I guess it stuck with me.” She stood up and readjusted her armor and weapons somewhat nervously. “Now, are you ready to get out of here?”  

     His only answer was a delicious wolfish grin.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter fluffier one! I'm working on a kid-fic as a side one shot for you guys as well!


	13. I Know Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freyja and Vilkas finally have a chance to be alone together...

     Freyja cleared away the drying vines on the craggy rock face to reveal the entrance to a cave. The sound of rushing water emanated from the dark opening.

     “I ran into some bandits here last week and cleared them out,” Vilkas explained, tossing his long dark hair out of his face. “It seemed like a nice little spot, so I covered the entrance and hoped nothing else found it in the meantime.”

     Freyja couldn’t help but smile. _Of course he would have thought this out!_ “It seems undisturbed,” she said.

     “Best let me go in first just in case,” he said, pushing past her. “Superior senses and all that.” Glaring down at her bow he added, “and put that away. I don’t want to get shot again.” He pursed his lips and stomped into the opening, leaving Freyja to scuttle after him.

     To his credit, it really was a nice little cave. The air was damp and just slightly cool. A stream bubbled merrily along the left side of the path. “There’s a second room beyond the main one, with a pool and a little waterfall. I thought it’d be a good place to clean up,” Vilkas readjusted his grip on his weapon, causing fresh blood to trickle from the wound in his shoulder.

     There was just enough of the weak blue light from the entrance to make out the main cavern. Freyja found the little fire pit, and cast a fire spell. The room was bathed in a warm orange glow.

     “Alright, whelp!” Vilkas bark, giving her a warning glare. “Enough showing off!”

     Freyja set her pack down. She rolled her eyes, though her mouth quirked up in a smile. “You’re just grumpy because I shot you.”

     “Yes!” He snapped, tossing his sword down in the dirt. He tried to reach up and undo his pauldron, but halted with a hiss of pain.

     “Here, let me,” Freyja walked over to help him. She was careful not to jar the remains of the arrow too much as she worked the armor off. The shirt underneath was soaked with blood and she winced, feeling another wave of guilt. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up, and I’ll set up camp?”

     “Aye,” Vilkas nodded, rubbing his shoulder as he wandered further into the cave.

     Freyja made herself busy searching through the old wooden crates of supplies the bandits had left behind. She set a pot of water to boil and found some clean rags to use for Vilkas’s wound. There were some still-edible vegetables left, though the bread had moulded. Getting out a second pot, she threw in what was left of the salted venison in her pack and began to slice up some apples, carrots, onions and potatoes. By the time Vilkas returned, she had a decent soup ready for the fire and had even managed to find some clean bedrolls. She was currently dragging them over to rest on the ground near the fire.

     “I see you’ve been busy,” he said looking around at the little camp admiringly.

     “Growing up, it was always my job to make camp while my father went scouting,” she stopped as a wave of grief washed over her. With a little shake of her head, she did her best to ignore it. “Anyway...”

     “Freyja...” Vilkas looked at her sadly.

     “Come and sit down. Let’s see about that arrowhead,” she said determinedly, brushing the dust from her hands onto her greaves. She used the linen to pull the boiling pot of water from the fire, and hung the soup pot on the spit instead.

     Vilkas pursed his lips, and with a frustrated sigh, he sat down on the crate in front of her. He observed her, impressed, as she dropped the linen and the blade half of her pocket knife in the bubbling water.

    _He has no idea how much experience I’ve had with these types of things,_ she realized. _All he’s seen of me has been around town, in a safe place. He doesn’t know how many times I travelled and cared for the hunters, for my family..._ Freyja forced thoughts of her past out of her mind, and instead focused on the man in front of her. His wavy wet hair glistened in the firelight and his lanky legs stretched out in front of him. Battle-scarred hands gripped the front corners of the crate fiercely, defining the muscles in his lean arms as he braced for the pain to come.

     “I wish I had some brandy to give you,” she said, picking up the hot little knife. She moved around to stand behind him, laying a hand on his back. His skin was still cool and wet from his bath, and surprisingly soft.

     “I’ll be fine. Just do it quickly,” he gritted his teeth.

     Taking a deep breath, she plunged the short blade deep into the muscle. She watched his skin immediately pale. Every nerve in his body tensed, but he didn’t make a sound. The wooden crate beneath him creaked as his hands clenched the wood.

     “I am so, so, sorry!” she pleaded, twisting the knife around the embedded metal.

     “It’s alright!” he growled, though his body trembled. Freyja bit her lip as she continued to loosen the arrowhead. It had gone much deeper into Vilkas’s shoulder than she had originally thought. The blood was flowing freely down his back and she felt horrible.

     They both let out a groan of relief when she finally managed to pull the obstruction out. She tossed it off to a forgotten corner of the cave, and began to clean the wound.

     “Vil-”

     “If you apologize one more time, woman, I’ll never let you shoot me again!” Vilkas snapped.

     Freyja wisely shut her mouth and focused on cleaning the wound out. When she was done, she cast a basic healing spell, running her hands over his shoulder until there was nothing left but a little pink scar. Brushing her thumb over it, she sighed, feeling it a pity to mar such lovely skin.

     “One of many, love. Don’t worry about it,” Vilkas said, reaching up to grab her little hand to his lips.

     Feeling at least somewhat forgiven, Freyja decided she could allow herself a moment to go clean the gore and grime off herself. She rummaged through the small pack of supplies they had brought, pulling out a clean change of clothes and her little soap cake.

     Vilkas stood up to stir the soup, releasing the savory aroma throughout the cavern. His stomach growled as he gazed down at the pot with hungry eyes.

     “Make sure to save some for me,” Freyja teased. She bent down in front of him, and the heat of the fire flared against her skin. Lighting a rough wooden torch she had found in an old bracket on the cave wall, stood up to see his eyes had taken on a burning golden hue.

     “I suppose I should, since you were the one who made it after all,” a predatory grin crept across his face. “But you’d still better hurry back. I’m hungry, Little One.”

     The look in his eyes sent heat rushing through Freyja’s veins. She was fairly certain he was talking of a different kind of hunger. It took all of her focus to keep her feet steady as she made her way down the rocky tunnel and into the back cavern. The torch cast a warm glow around the room as she entered. There was a hole in the roof of the cave, and through it she could see the pink clouds of the sunset. The stream poured down past the view in a spray of white, and fell into a pool in the center of the room.

     Setting the torch down on a dry patch of stone, she stripped out of her bloodied armor. Her whole body felt lighter as the leather and steel clanked to the ground. She peeled off her underthings and stood for a moment, letting the mist from the waterfall clothe her naked form. Her life had been so hectic... well for years really, but it had escalated to a blur since coming to Skyrim. She couldn’t remember the last time she just stood still and relaxed. _Probably not since Father was killed..._ She shook her head and focused on the present. _There is a beautiful, strong, somewhat-charming warrior in the next room waiting for you!_ With a deep breath, she slipped off the lip of the rock and into the pool.

     “MOTHERFUCKING TALOS’S TITS!” she screamed as icy water enveloped her body.

     She heard roaring laughter from the next room. “I forgot the water might be a bit cold for you, Little One!”

     “Curse you and your freezing blood, you Nord bastard!” she yelled.

     Footsteps echoed towards the entrance. “I could come and warm you up if you’d like?” His voice sent shivers of a different sort up her spine.

     “Vilkas!” she snapped. “If you let that food burn, I will skin you alive! Now go eat, you scrawny thing!”

     She heard his low chuckle retreat back down the passageway.

     Shaking her head, she slogged over to the edge, grabbed her soap, and lathered up. As her body slowly adjusted to the water temperature, she was able to let the sweet almond aroma of the lather soothe her. The cold was making her already tired muscles ache, and she feared she’d fall asleep as soon as she was done. Holding her breath, she ducked under the water to rinse her long hair.

     After getting dried as best she could and dressed, she returned to the main room of the cave. Vilkas had banked the fire so that the entire room was filled with warmth and flickering light.

     He looked up at her somewhat sheepishly. “I thought you might need warming up.” Relaxing his back against a log, he looked almost peaceful as his icy blue eyes searched her face.

     She huffed and gave him a glare.

     “I saved you some dinner!” his face was hopeful, almost boyish. Her anger dissipated, and she sank down gratefully on a bedroll next to the fire. He got up and tossed a blanket around her shoulders, and handed her a warm bowl of stew.

     She found herself feeling relaxed in spite, or maybe because of, his presence. With the exception of near-death experiences, she hadn’t felt this cared for since she was a little girl. _Would it really be so bad?_ a little voice in her head whispered. _Don’t you feel you’re due some enjoyment, however brief?_

     She told the voice to shut up and tucked into her dinner, finishing it rather quickly. Her hair was starting to dry, and she knew if she didn’t comb it out first, it would turn into a big, tangled mess. She reached over to the pack, took her little wooden comb out, and began to work on the knots at the bottom. Vilkas sat next to her and began sharpening his sword with the file he always kept in his pack. By the time he was done sharpening her dagger and little knife, she had finally gotten her hair tamed.

     “Come here,” she said softly. She shifted so the fire was to her right and patted the spot in front of her.

     He obediently sat in the space and faced her. She took his left hand with both of hers and began massaging it, earning a wince from him. “Relax” she commanded, working her way up to his wrist. “You’ve been carrying that great big sword all day. Your muscles are a wreck!”

     “It wouldn’t have been so bad if I hadn’t had an arrow buried in my back,” he grumbled.

     She gave his wrist a squeeze with her hand. There was a loud pop as the bones realigned themselves.

     Vilkas groaned in relief.

     “Better?” she asked, with a quirk of her eyebrow.

     In response, he leaned forward onto his knees and kissed her. It was gentle and sweet, and unlike anything she was used to.

     She broke away, hating the way her heart was fluttering like a frightened bird. _What am I getting myself into?_ she thought, looking down at their clasped hands. _I can’t do this._

     “Freyja,” Vilkas‘s voice was raw with need and he pressed his forehead to hers.

     She gave in and kissed him fiercely. _You need him,_ the little voice in her head chimed as wrapped an arm around her and hauled her forward and up onto his lap. _And it feels like he really needs you too!_ She let out a little giggle.

     “That’s it, love,” he encouraged with grin. “Let yourself go.” His warm, calloused hands slid under the linen of her shirt, caressing the soft curves of her waist as they travelled up and slipped the garment over her head. His eyes widened as he gazed down at the sight before him.

     “I am the luckiest man in all of Tamriel!” he breathed in wonder.

     Freyja slapped him playfully on the chest as she blushed.

     “Seriously woman!” he chuckled, resting his hands on her wide hips. “How do you even manage to fit those things in your armor?”

     “I bind them,” she shrugged, laughing inwardly as she watched his eyes bounce up and down with the motion of her chest.

     His gaze met hers again and his eyebrows knit together in a scowl. “That is unacceptable, New Blood.” He pushed her back gently, and she lay under him on the bed roll. “I think” his lips trailed feather light kisses across her collarbone, “that we,” he moved up to her neck, “should get you some custom fitted armor.” He supported himself with one hand and she felt his other undoing the tie on her pants.

     “Hmmm... perhaps I could afford some,” she lifted her hips obligingly as he slid the garment off her, “If only my grouch of a trainer would give me more work.” Her hands were already undoing his trousers and pushing them down.

     He closed his eyes as a growl rumbled low in his chest. “Perhaps I’d give you more work if you stayed around more often.”

     She paused, and he looked down at her. “I’ll stay as much as I can,” she said seriously.

     “Good,” his white teeth flashed in the dim light as his face spread in a wolfish grin.

     “Gods help me, I’ve been tamed!” she rolled her eyes, and kicked his trousers from between his feet.

     He laced his fingers with hers, and slowly raised her arms above her head. “Well, one of us should be!” he growled.

     Freyja lifted her head and captured his lips. As his tongue entered her mouth, she sucked gently on the tip. He groaned, making her heart pound. She raised her hips with a whimper, need devouring her. She broke apart from his lips to gasp as he entered her and he let loose one of her hands so he could cup her face.

     “Alright, love?” he panted.

     She nodded, wrapping her arms around his lean body. Closing her eyes, she let her brain shut off, and instead focused on the pleasant warmth radiating in her core. Vilkas began to nibble on her ear and that warmth turned into a fire. It grew hotter and hotter until she cried out, clutching her fingernails into his back as her body trembled and her brain melted.

     Vilkas roared and bit down on her neck as reached a crescendo of his own.  


* * *

 

  
_Dear gods, man, what are you doing?_ Vilkas let out a sigh as he gazed at the sleeping woman next to him. She was little more than a girl, and had no business being with a mean old warrior like him. However, it seemed experiences had made her much older than her years. What those experiences were, she had yet to tell him, and he knew better than to push. What he did know was that she was kind and thoughtful. She never burdened others with her problems.

   _Even when she should._ He gave into his long-held desire and ran his rough hand through her hair. The chestnut curls and waves slipped softly over his skin. He closed his eyes, as his enhanced senses reveled. Her scent of cotton and apples mixed with the perfume of her almond soap and made his mouth water. His hand trailed down her face, tracing the tribal brand on her cheek and down her neck, before coming to rest on the dramatic curve of her waist. Despite all her time with the Companions, she still looked more like a lover rather than a fighter. That suited Vilkas just fine.

     Freyja whimpered in her sleep. Her form trembled under his hand as another nightmare took hold.

     “Shh, love. It’s alright,” Vilkas murmured. He pulled her body closer to his and kissed the back of her neck. In the dim light of the low fire, he saw the goosebumps that had risen on her creamy skin. He wrapped the blanket around them and held her close, feeling content for the first time in years. He longed for the day when she would sleep soundly, without dreams filled with such terror and pain...

     But tonight, she had looked at him with love, and happiness. Her smile had been the first genuine one he’d seen on her face. _It is enough,_ he thought as sleep finally claimed him. _Enough for now._


	14. Your Honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freyja has a tense trip to Windhelm, and things come to a head when she runs into Vilkas and Ria.

     Freyja swallowed nervously, gazing up at the imposing gates of Windhelm. _Get it together. What’s the worst that could happen?_

     She shook her head. That was probably the wrong thing to ask. She had been summoned to Windhelm by Jarl Ulfric nearly a week ago. Assuming the trip from Whiterun to Windhelm would be relatively easy, she didn’t think to bring anyone along with her. Two dragons, a frost troll, an ice wraith, and a trio of Thalmor Justiciars had proven how mistaken she was. She pressed her hand to her side, feeling a sharp stab of pain. That Thalmor agent had definitely cracked some ribs. 

     Trembling with exhaustion, she pushed open the city gates. At least I’ll be safe from them in here.  The city was cold, and dark.

     “What brings you to Windhelm?” a Stormcloak guard asked, striding up to her. The flame of his torch sputtered as icy droplets hit it.  

     “I’ve been summoned by Jarl Ulfric,” she shivered.  

     “Palace of the Kings, straight ahead,” the guard gestured into the darkness with his shield. “The Jarl is holding court for another hour. If you hurry, you might be able to catch him.”  

     With a nod, Freyja bundled deeper into her forest green cloak and hurried over the flagstone. Snow started to fall harder as she ran through the courtyard and towards the ancient wooden doors. A guard opened one for her and she slipped inside gratefully.  

     It was not much warmer in the Palace of the Kings, as evidenced by the thick fur armor the Stormcloak soldiers were parading around in. Jarl Ulfric himself was wrapped in an impressive bear pelt and seemed quite relaxed on his throne.  

     Steeling her nerves, Freyja walked boldly up to the Jarl. She knelt, announcing herself.  

     “Rise!” Ulfric ordered. “You are Dovahkiin. You should bow to no one.” He assessed her with eyes that were dark blue like the sky before a storm.  

     She rose and held her head high, meeting his gaze. “You summoned me?”  

     “Yes,” his voice was solemn. “I have something for you, but I think it’s best if we talk in private.” Weathered wrinkles appeared around his eyes as his shrewd gaze scanned the room. “What I have to say is personal, and not fit for such public places.” Rising to his full height, his deep voice boomed, “Ralof!”  

     Freyja’s heart leapt into her throat as the blonde warrior came striding up.

     “Yes, Jarl Ulfri- oh.” His face registered shock as he looked at the little woman before him. “You came.”  

     _What in Oblivion is going on?_ Freyja wondered. She raised an eyebrow at the young soldier in silent question. He looked very determinedly at his boots, making Freyja even more nervous. 

     “Ralof,” Ulfric said quietly. “Stand guard and see to it we are not disturbed,” with that, he turned and led Freyja through a door on the side of the hall. 

     She followed him into what appeared to be a war room. There was a great wooden table with a map of Skyrim spread upon it. Little red or blue flags were dotted all across the landscape, indicating the areas controlled by each side of the conflict. From what Freyja could see, there was more blue than red.  

     “About two weeks ago, one of our patrols captured a courier from Cyrodill,” Ulfric explained, drawing Freyja back to attention. She noticed Ralof had stayed outside and closed the door on her and the Jarl. She was flooded with a sense of foreboding.  

     “Oh?” she cleared her throat.  

     “We thought he might have been a spy, carrying sensitive information. In a way he was, but not concerning the war.” He walked over to a safe on the far side of the room. Taking a little key from inside his pocket, he inserted it into the lock and opened the door. His voice echoed slightly as he reached in. “Fortunately for you, Ralof happened to be the one who captured the courier. When he saw who the parcel was addressed to, he had enough presence of mind to keep it to himself. He brought it directly to me, untouched.” Straightening up, the Jarl of Windhelm turned around and placed three large coin purses on the table, along with a piece of parchment.  

     “Your inheritance,” Ulfric gestured to the gold before him.  

     “But... how?” Freyja was dumbfounded.  

     “According to this letter from the Emperor, it also includes the profits from the sale of your shop, and the remaining wages he had promised to your sister,” Ulfric looked down and the parchment in his hand uncomfortably, as Freyja collapsed into a chair. “I am sorry for your loss, Dovahkiin. I hope you can understand why I had to read the letter.”

     “What did it say?” Freyja’s voice was hollow, and she clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking.  

     Ulfric’s strong brows crinkled in confusion. “The Imperial City misses you, and the Emperor grieves for your sister. You were welcome back should you ever wish to return to Cyrodill.” His look hardened. “Why? What was your sister to the Emperor?”  

     Freyja fought to steady her voice. “She was the royal bard. I made all the hunting bows for the palace, and gave them a good price on supplies.” She shrugged, feeling a numbness settle over her. “That is all.” It was the truth, and she prayed he believed it.  Ulfric crossed his arms and watched her for a moment.

     “So you claim no loyalty to the Empire?” 

     “Absolutely not! I swear it, Jarl,” she insisted. “We were just in his employ for a time. That is all.” Her eyes darkened. “Cyrodill and the Emperor mean nothing to me. They are just another bad memory. Any allegiance I ever had toward them died at Helgen.” Her voice broke, and she could see his harsh demeanor lessen. 

     “I want no quarrel with you, Dragonborn,” he admitted, “But if you will not support our cause, I ask that you stay out of the way.” 

     Freyja sighed in relief, “That is my goal, truly.”  

     With a slight shake of his head, he gestured to the small fortune in front of him. “Take your gold, Dovahkiin,” his voice sounded as weary as she felt. “Use it to build a new life.” 

     Without response, Freyja stood up, and took the money in her arms. She could just barely fit it in the little knapsack at her back. “Thank you,” she said quietly, looking up at the nobleman.  

     For a moment, Ulfric Stormcloak’s expression softened. “I know what it is to lose everything, Dragonborn. And I know the loneliness and burden that comes with the power of the Thu’um.” He placed a scarred hand on her shoulder.  

     Freyja nodded, unable to formulate a response around the lump in her throat. 

     “Ralof!” Ulfric called. 

     “Yes, Jarl?” The strapping Nord opened the door and popped his head in.  

     “Take young Freyja over to Candlehearth hall. The girl could do with a stiff drink and a warm bed.”  

     “My pleasure, Jarl Ulfric!” Ralof grinned.  

     “Why am I not surprised?” Ulfric grumbled as he walked back into the throne room.

 

* * *

 

 

     “Smile, Dovahkiin,” Ralof nudged Freyja’s knee under the table. “You’re a rich woman.” 

     Freyja looked up at Ralof confusedly. _How can he ask me to smile about this?_

     “Jarl Ulfric told me that you got a tidy profit from the sale of your shop in the Imperial City,” he explained.  

 _Ulfric said the package was untouched,_ Freyja realized. _Ralof only saw who the letter was addressed to, not what it said._ Relief flooded her veins, and she felt endeared to the rebel leader for keeping her secret.   She managed to plaster a smile on her face. “Yes, I’m happy the Emperor was able to sell the shop. I hated the thought of it sitting there abandoned, after all the work I had put into it," she lied. She hadn't thought about the shop at all. It had lain forgotten along with the rest of her life before Skyrim and that was how she preferred it.

     “I must admit, for a minute there I was afraid I was going to have to lock you in irons. I am glad it turned out to be a simple business matter.” The soldier nodded to her empty cup. “Another drink to celebrate?” 

     She handed him the vessel, trying not to focus on the beauty of his golden hair glinting in the firelight. He stood up and walked to the bar, looking taller and more impressive than she remembered.   _Vilkas. You have Vilkas._ She closed her eyes and captured up the image of his face. The sharp features, the icy blue eyes. The way his growling voice could set her very core on fire.

     She could almost hear it now.  

     “Freyja!”

     She squawked, nearly falling out of her chair. “Vilkas! What are you doing here?” She looked up at the man towering over her. His arms were crossed, and he was wearing his trademark scowl.  

     “I was returning from a hunting trip, when the storm moved in. This was the closest inn,” his gaze narrowed. “And you?” 

     “I was summoned by Ulfric,” she answered.  

     “Why?” he demanded.  

     “A personal matter!” she snapped. _Gods! What in the world has got his loincloth in a twist?_

     “Everything alright, Freyja?” a smooth voice asked.  

     _Oh, that._ Her head whipped up as Ralof approached. His voice may have been calm, but everything in about his body language was threatening.  

     Freyja was sorely tempted to just get up and walk out. “Er... Vilkas... this is-” 

     “Ralof,” Vilkas grunted.  

     “I see the years have done nothing to damage your charming personality, Vilkas,” Ralof smiled as he sat down opposite Freyja. 

     _Of course they would know each other,_ she groaned inwardly. _They grew up just over the pass from one another._

     Vilkas let out a throaty growl which sounded not altogether human. “And how do you know Freyja?”  

     “That’s really not any of your business, Companion,” Ralof said politely, before taking a swig of his mead. “It’s between me and the lady.” 

     Vilkas quickly went from red to purple almost instantaneously.  

     “I told you she didn’t care about you,” an annoyingly familiar voice chirped.  

     “ _I_ was on a hunting trip?” Freyja’s eyes narrowed at Vilkas as Ria appeared next to him. “Don’t you mean _we_?” She was not happy about him leaving that detail out.  

     Ralof’s eyes widened and he turned to Freyja. “Oh, I see. You and this... charming man are an item?”  

     “Something like that,” Freyja’s voice was reluctant.  

     Vilkas sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ria, did I not tell you to wait at the table?”  

     The young Imperial scoffed. “I’m not going to just sit by while she so blatantly disrespects you!”  

     “Ria!” Vilkas barked. "This doesn't concern you!"

     “No!” she shouted, tears sparkling in her eyes. “Don’t you see? She doesn’t even care about you! The minute you leave, she’s out whoring around with whatever catches her eye!”  

     “THAT’S ENOUGH!” Freyja snapped. Standing up and glaring at her shield-sister, “I have had my fill your petty jealousy, Ria! It’s time we settled this!” She threw back the rest of her brandy.  

     “Ladies...” Vilkas sounded nervous as he backed away.  

     “Good!” Ria yelled. “It’s time Vilkas really sees who the better woman is!” She brought her fists up, ready to strike.  

     “It’s not a competition, you stupid cow!” Freyja dodged a strike and landed one of her own.  

     “Oh that’s rich, coming from you!” Ria’s fist connected with Freyja’s jaw.  Freyja shook her head in attempt to clear it. Ria was stronger than she had anticipated. She lashed out with a solid blow to the Imperial’s stomach. The air _whooshed_ out of the girl satisfactorily. _There!_

     To Freyja’s astonishment, Ria drew back, and let loose a flurry of blows on the tiny brunette. Head still reeling, it was all Freyja could do to block them. Ria’s fist connected with her ribs and there was a sickening _CRACK!_

     Freyja paled as pain bloomed in her side.. _she’s not backing down. I need to finish this._ She lashed out with her leg, sweeping the Imperial’s feet out from under her. Ria hit the floor hard and didn’t even have a chance to realize it before Freyja was on top of her, using her weight to her advantage and pinning the girl. Freyja latched a hand onto Ria’s throat.  

     “Now, you listen to me,” she whispered menacingly, pain making her voice rougher than usual. “I am not just some whelp for you to bully around. I am the Dovahkiin. I am a Companion, and I am your shield sister. Either you respect me as such, or I will show you the true extent of my power.” She tightened her grip, “and you will respect Vilkas and his decisions from now on.” She glanced up at her lover briefly before turning her attention back to Ria. “He is a person, with a free will, not a prize to be won or some creature to be hounded. Understand?” 

     Ria nodded, tears in her eyes. “Alright! I’m sorry,” she croaked, as Freyja released her. She sat up and rubbed her throat.  

     Freyja stood up, hand going involuntarily to her side. Vilkas shot her a worried glance.  

     “Ralof,” she turned to the flabbergasted soldier. “Thank you for the drink. I’m sorry about all this.”  

     The big blond shrugged. “It’s alright. I can definitely say time spent with you is never boring!” He looked down and the gasping Companion. “Shall I take this one to a healer?”  

     “Thank you, Ralof,” Freyja's shoulders slumped. “That is very kind of you.” Guilt crept up on her. She had lost control, and let her emotions get the better of her. _I could have made my point without nearly killing the poor girl._

     Ralof gave Ria a hand up and kept a hand on her lower back as she slinked out of the inn.  

     Vilkas snuck up to Freyja with a happy little rumble. “Shall we find someplace more private, love?” 

     “No!” The fire in Freyja's veins flared. She snatched up her cloak with a grimace. “I’m still mad at you!” 

     Vilkas pursed his lips, “Yet, you just fought for my honor.” He picked up Freyja’s pack from the floor by her chair. 

     “I didn’t fight for your honor!” Freyja poked him in the chest, her nail pinging on the steel. “I fought for mine!” she blew a curl out of her face and glared up at him. “I am sick an tired of her treating you like an object. Like I stole you away and you had no say in the matter!”  

     “And, how is that not fighting for me?” Vilkas smirked.  

     Freyja glared daggers at him. “You're impossible."

     He gave her a smug grin and she felt her anger disspating.

     "Shut up," she grumbled.

     He chuckled as he followed her over to the counter.  
  
     She rented a room and handed him the key and her cloak. “Go to the room. I’ll be down in a minute.” 

     “Anything for my Champion,” he said sweetly. Clearly, he was loving all the attention.  

     _Great. More fuel for his ego! Just what we all needed._ She rolled her eyes, and watched him make his way downstairs. Turning to the innkeeper, she kept her voice low. “Do you have any restorative potions?”  

     “I’m sorry, dear, but we’re all out. You can try the White Phial when they open in the morning.”  

     Freyja thanked the woman anyway, and carefully made her way downstairs. The pain in her side was getting worse. _If I can just get some rest, I should have enough magicka in the morning to heal myself._ She pushed open the door to the room... 

     ...Vilkas was kneeling on the floor, shaking violently and clutching his chest with one hand. In the other, he clutched a letter from her pack with the Thalmor seal on it.

     The letter she had taken off the body of a Justiciar.

     The letter that called for her assassination.   

     _Fuck._

“They know who you are,” Vilkas growled as Freyja entered the room. “THEY KNOW WHO YOU ARE!” His head snapped up and he gazed at her with blazing golden eyes.  
  



	15. Whisper Softly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vilkas struggles to contain his Beast Blood, and the couple deals with the aftermath of the Thalmor attack and brawl with Ria.

     “THEY KNOW WHO YOU ARE!” Vilkas’s voice choked off into an inhuman whine as another spasm sliced through his frame.

     He watched Fryeja maneuver around the scattered pieces of his armor as she made her way over to him. _No, gods no! Run away!_ She knelt down on the rough wooden floor, taking his head in her hands. He shook.

     “Vilkas, stay with me, love!” she pleaded, running her fingers through his dark and wild hair. “I took care of the Thalmor. It’s okay!”

     He closed his eyes, whining in pain again as another tremor passed through him. Red and black swirled in his vision and he felt his thoughts dulling. “They attacked you. They attacked my mate!” His hand crumpled the Thalmor assassination contract further. “They hunted you down!” he let loose a lupine growl, unable to speak anymore. Clutching at his chest, he panted before letting loose a roar of agony. He clawed at the stifling linen of his undershirt. His heart thundered and felt like it would burst through his ribcage. The smells in the room assaulted him, making it hard to breathe. The scraping chairs and chatter of the tavern overwhelmed his sensitive ears. He shook his head, trying to clear it.

     Freyja smoothed his hair back with shaking hands. “Shh, I killed them, sweetheart. I killed them,” she quavered. She her arms around his neck and kissed his stubbled cheek. She continued to hold him tight against her soft body and soothe him, even while he could taste her panic in the air. Her words were a whisper under the rushing in his head, constant and steady.

     The throbbing in his chest lessened. His mind slowed its frenzy.  

     “They’re gone, Vilkas. We’re safe now,” her murmuring voice came back to him. 

     He closed his eyes, focusing on the timbre of her voice. His muscles cramped and twitched, as his body hovered between transformation and relaxation. The wolf was still raging inside him, desperate for vengeance. _No, not in the city... not when she’s so close... If I hurt her..._ his blood began to boil again. Fear was bringing out the beast.

     Vilkas lunged forward and nuzzled Freyja’s neck, inhaling her scent. The apples-and-cotton washed over him and he clung to it like a lifeline. He hugged her close.

     She gasped in pain and her ribs made a sickening crunching sound. 

      Another low growl erupted from him as his heart quickened. “You’re hurt.” Rage tore through him, as he heard the hitch in her breathing. Her breath smelled of blood.

     “Yes,” she nodded, pulling back. “I am.” Her mossy eyes looked up at him, pleading. Her hands tightened on his arms and he could practically taste the pain that radiated from her.   
  


     The darkness swirled in his vision at the thought of someone hurting her. “I should have been there to protect you,” his voice was rough, and he had trouble even forming the words. He traced the brand on her full cheek with his long, trembling fingers. “I’m supposed to keep you safe.”

     She cupped his face in her little hands, “I am safe now, Vilkas, but I’m injured and need help.” She gazed steadily into his blazing golden eyes, begging him to understand. “If you shift, you could hurt me or worse. You might even bring in the guards and get yourself killed! You need to stay human,” she insisted. “You need to care for your... mate."  

     _Mate._ Hearing her say the word shocked him to the core. Even the wolf stilled. The colors in the room resumed their normal hues. The edges of his vision sharpened. He knew his eyes were shifting from blazing gold back to icy blue. The pounding of his heart slowed and he felt his body finally start to relax.

     “You... you stopped it,” he panted in amazement. “That’s never happened before!” He grabbed Freyja by the back of the neck and rested his forehead against hers. “Thank you,” he managed. This time his tongue was tied with emotion. His long dark lashes glistened in the flickering candlelight. He felt his mind slowing to its normal pace. A sniffly chuckle escaped from him, “Oh gods, woman, thank you!” He had never controlled himself like that. He had always gone over the edge.  

     Freyja had just saved the both of them, and possibly a large portion of Windhelm, from a horrible fate.

     She sighed in relief. “I just appealed to your survival instincts,” she explained, rubbing his back gently. “I figured even your other side would be logical enough to see reason. All animals want to live.”

     “You foolish, brilliant girl!” he kissed her forehead. “What would I do without you?” His fingers started working at the clasps on her light leather armor.

     She hissed as he tried to undo a buckle.

     He scanned her up and down as his full lips were pulled down into a worried frown. He had barely touched her. _Is she in that much pain?_ “Stand up.”

     With some difficulty, she stood. His experienced fingers very gently removed her armor. She was pale, and unsteady. She tried to remove her shirt, but stopped with a cry.

     “What happened?” He steered her over to the little bed and gently pushed her down. “Did Ria hurt to you?” He fought the urge to hunt down their Shield Sister.

     Freyja shook her head as she lay back, “It was a Thalmor Justiciar. A spell knocked me into a tree.” A groan escaped her as she readjusted herself on the pillows. “Ria just hit the wrong spot,” she shuddered as Vilkas’s fingers slid under the fabric and grazed her skin. “It wasn’t her fault.”

     Vilkas lifted the light green fabric and cursed silently. The entire right side of Freyja’s torso was a map of reds and purples. It was swollen and warm to the touch. Her ribs clicked under his hand and she whimpered. _That spell must have thrown her with the force of a mammoth!_

     “Freyja love,” his voice betrayed his worry. “You need to go to a healer.”

     She frowned, biting her lip. “It’s late. I don’t want to bother anyone,” she gingerly pulled the blankets up. “I’ll just get some rest and heal myself in the morning when my magicka regenerates.”

     He growled, wanting to argue. She had broken ribs and severe bruising, possibly even internal bleeding. The sooner she was healed the better. “Freyja, this looks pretty bad. Just let me go find some help.”  

     “Do you really think you should be out on the streets right now?” her gaze was sympathetic, but left no room for argument. 

     He cursed. She was right. He still felt tightly wound, wild. If something pushed him over the edge it would end badly for them all.  

     “Dammit, whelp! I can’t stand here and do nothing!” His outburst only reinforced her point. He felt like he was about to vibrate out of his skin. 

     “Calm down, Vilkas. Take a deep breath.” 

     He did as he was told.  

     “Now listen, we are in an inn. We are together. If anything happens, there are people all around who could help. So there is no reason to get upset or worry, alright?” her voice was even, logical. 

     He took another breath, closing his eyes. “It’s hard seeing you in pain, Little One,” he admitted.  

     She graced him with a bittersweet smile, “Vilkas, we are in the wrong line of work then.” 

     He snorted. _And she’s the Dovakhiin on top of that._ “That doesn’t mean I’m going to get used to it.” He ground his teeth.  

     She scooted closer to the edge of the bed. “Come lay down.”  

     He hesitated, looking back towards the closed door. He still felt too frenzied, and she still needed healing.

     “Please Vil? I’m so tired!” she pleaded. “I promise, as soon as I wake up, I’ll heal myself, okay?”

     He relented, crawling up into the bed with her. He was careful not to jostle her too much. “Fine,” he grunted “But I’m not leaving your side, just in case.”

     “That’s all I need.” She found his hand under the blanket and laced her cold fingers with his, “Distract me while I fall asleep?”

     “Alright,” he propped his head up on his free hand. “What would you like to know?”

     “How do you know Ralof?” she mused. Vilkas sighed wearily. _Of all the things... is she trying to drive me mad?_ He managed to squelch his jealousy and indulge the girl’s curiosity. “Ralof would play with Farkas and I whenever his family would come over the pass to Whiterun for supplies. We were the same age. He always said he wanted to be a companion when he grew up.” He yawned. His battle with the wolf had left him exhausted.

     Freyja shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “And then?” she prompted when she caught Vilkas frowning at her.

     “And then the Markarth Incident happened, and the founding of the Stormcloaks. We were only nine, such an impressionable age. Ulfric became somewhat of a hero. He seemed strong and charismatic and willing to stand up to the Thalmor, to speak up for all who had no voice,” he shook his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Ralof decided he wanted to join the ranks as soon as he came of age. I suppose all of us young ones in Skyrim at the time felt the same, right?”

     Freyja blushed and her self-conscious smile was adorable. It was refreshing to see such a sweet, girlish expression on her face. “Er... I wasn’t quite born yet.”

     Vilkas sank back on the bed with a groan. “Ysmir’s beard, woman! Sometimes I forget how young you are!” He threw an arm over his face. “Now I feel like an old man!”

     She rolled her eyes and he even got a chuckle from her. “You’re not old,” she said, patting his leg soothingly. “You’ve just had more life experience.”

     He opened a clear blue eye and glared at her from under his forearm. “That’s the same thing, New Blood.”

     “Gods Vilkas! Stop being so dramatic and go to sleep,” she yawned and pulled his hand closer. “You old men need your rest.”

     He scooted closer and nestled against her back. He extricated his hand from hers and rested it on her hip, well below her injuries.“I swear, Freyja,” he mumbled, fighting a smile.   “If any of the other whelps talked to me the way you do...”

     “You know you like it,” she argued, her eyes sliding closed. “Gotta keep you on your toes...” her voice trailed off and her breathing evened out.

     Vilkas kissed her temple and smiled.   
  


* * *

 

  
     “I was wondering when you two were going to show up,” Ria said as Vilkas approached. She looked at the sleeping woman in his arms and for a moment the heartbreak flashed across her face. “Good night?”

     “Not even close,” Vilkas grunted, setting Freyja on a bench in the carriage before climbing up behind her.

     “Hm?” Freyja lifted her head as he settled next to her, startling him a bit. With the amount of healing she had undergone, she should have been completely unconscious for hours, if not days!

     “Nothing,” Vilkas huffed. “Go back to sleep.” He gathered her into his arms once more, wrapping his steel blue cloak around them.

     “My stomach hurts,” she mumbled, snuggling into his neck.

     “Yes well, you’re lucky that’s all that hurts,” he snapped. “Maybe next time you’re grievously injured, you’ll tell someone rather than get drunk and pick a fight!”

     She yawned, “...wasn’t drunk.”

     “That wasn’t my point,” he grumbled.

     “I know,” she breathed, giving him a little kiss on his neck.

     He sighed in exasperation as she fell back asleep. Part of him wanted to shake her to her senses, to roar that she was a stupid, reckless girl with no concern for her own well being, but a larger, more dominant part was overjoyed just to have her safe in his arms. _She called herself my mate._ He brushed a curl from her face. _By Ysmir! What is happening to me?_ he shook his head softly, marveling at his newfound tenderness.

     “What happened?” Ria asked cautiously. “I hope it wasn’t me,” she looked genuinely worried for her Shield Sister.

     Vilkas was reminded of why he sometimes almost liked the warrior, despite her silly crush. _She really does have a good, kind heart, even if she is immature._

     “The Thalmor,” he whispered, careful not to wake the girl in his arms. “They attacked her yesterday. She was already hurt before she confronted you.” He looked the Imperial in the eye. “It wasn’t your fault.”

     Ria’s brow furrowed, “The Thalmor? Why?”

     “She dared to challenge them,” Vilkas frowned. _She may have killed these ones, but more will follow,_ his thoughts nagged at him. He could feel the beast inside him writhe, wanting to hunt every Thalmor agent down and slaughter them. He had to remind himself that he was trying to be a good man with honor. _Man, not wolf.  I am in control of the blood. It does not control me._

     “That attack at their Embassy... that was her?” Ria’s eyes widened.  

     Vilkas didn’t say anything, but his grim expression answered her question.

     “Is she going to be okay?” Ria wrapped her own cloak tightly around her. There was still bruising around her neck, but she looked alright otherwise. Hopefully she learned her lesson and would stay out of his business from now on.

     The storm from the night before still lingered in its weakened form. The sky was a watery grey and small flakes of snow drifted down as the carriage began to rattle up the road toward Whiterun.

     Vilkas held Freyja tighter, as if to shield her from the elements. “I think she’ll be alright. The Innkeeper was able to fetch the healer before... in time,” he amended. His mind flashed back to the night before, when he awoke in a panic to find his sweet Little One coughing up a frightening amount of blood. He had nearly transformed due to sheer terror. Only the desperation in her eyes kept him focused enough to maintain some sort of control. _But I did control myself,_ he thought proudly. _So maybe there's hope after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing the wolf stuff was quite fun! Thanks for being so patient and giving me time to work on this one!


	16. Attack

     “Head’s up! Here comes another one!” Aela’s voice rang out over the plains.  

     “She’s got to be joking!” Vilkas’s armor clanked as he vaulted over a rock, ducking down next to Freyja just in time to avoid a blast of dragon fire.  

     A sudden gust blew the flames back, and Freyja looked up to see the pearlescent white belly of a frost dragon flash by. “Apparently not.” 

     She rose and skipped backward, knocking an arrow. The copper scales of the blood dragon gleamed in the morning sun as it lifted off to chase after the new arrival. 

 _Inhale. Draw. Aim._  

     _Exhale. Release._

     The dragon screeched as the Dwarven tip lodged itself under the its wing briefly before clattering to the ground.  

     “Shit!” Freyja cursed. It was one thing to fight a dragon on her own, or even with Janessa. Janessa knew what she was signing up for. She supposed the Companions would have to face a dragon at some point. _But two at once? Azura help us! They aren’t ready!_

     The two creatures circled around, giving her a few precious moments to take stock. They had been out for a routine training exercise out in the plains. Most of them were outfitted in light armor, and they had little to no supplies.  

     “Is anybody hurt?” Aela called out as she drew an arrow from the quiver at her back. “Skjor?” 

     “I’m fine,” the old warrior grunted, making no move to rise from his sheltered position against the pond bank. He briefly met the redhead’s piercing glare with his good eye. “Leg might be broken” he admitted.  

     Aela cursed and moved to his side adopting a protective stance.  

     Vilkas moved closer to Freyja. His sword shook in his hand and his wide eyes looked down at her nervously, their color shifting from silver to gold as he fought for control. “They’re headed this way... what do we do?” he asked quietly.

     Freyja tried to formulate some sort of plan, despite the panic clawing at the edges of her mind. _Use their strengths._  

     “Athis, Ria, Vilkas! You focus on the blood dragon - the brown one!” she snapped at their confused expressions. “Athis take point!” he could resist the fire. The group closed in and gripped their weapons as their dragons grew closer.   “Farkas, Njada, Torvar take the frost dragon! Attack from the sides, people! Don’t let them get their teeth in you! And for Ysmir’s sake, watch out for their tails!”   She turned to her fellow archer. “Aela, take whatever shots you can get. Aim for their bellies and the underside of their throats. Otherwise, hit the wings and try to take them down.”  

     Aela gave a brief nod and reached into her quiver.  

     “Skjor, you still with us?” Freyja called over the roar of the wind as the dragons neared.  

     “Leg’s just broken, I’m not dead!” he barked at the whelp.  

     “Good!” Freyja snapped back. “Keep your eyes open. Call out if you see something we don’t.” He had been a soldier in his younger days, and still had a knack for strategy.

     The dragons approached, and the Companions split off to engage their designated foes. Taunting the beasts and trying to force them to the ground.  

     Freyja drew a deep breath as the frost dragon neared.  “ _YOL!_ ” 

     The beast erupted into flames and crashed to the ground, sending rocks and debris flying.  

     “Did you just fucking breath fire?!” Njada yelled as she bashed the dragon’s head with her shield.  

     Freyja coughed at the dryness in her throat and knocked another arrow, aiming for the right wing of blood dragon still circling. “Aela! Left wing!”  she called.

     The Huntress aimed.  

     As the creature passed, both archers let loose.   The dragon let a piercing screech as the arrows found their marks. It spasmed and spun down to the earth.

     Athis, Ria, and Vilkas ran after it. Aela followed close behind.

     Freyja turned back to the frost dragon. It had regained its footing and was clumsily staggering around, trying to avoid Farkas’s axe. Torvar and Njada were working in tandem, taunting it and taking cover behind Njada’s shield when it shot its freezing breath at them. It was gaining on them. Soon it would be close enough to bite... 

     She fired a shot into the creature’s eye, and it threw its head to the sky and shrieked. Farkas used the beast’s distraction to his advantage. He tossed his weapon to one hand and used the other to swing himself up on the creature’s back. He landed astride the dragon. Raising his great axe in his hands, he bellowed and struck deep. Blood sprayed up and the dragon went limp. Farkas jumped and rolled to safety before the beast could crush him in it’s fall. He smiled up at Freyja, drenched head to toe in scarlet.  

     She gave him a nod and turned to the other fight.  

     They were not doing so well.

     Ria was laying on the ground, unmoving. Athis, stood over her, shielding them from the dragon’s fierce talons. Aela was firing shot after shot into the beast’s belly as Vilkas danced about it’s head, trying to avoid its snapping jaws.  

     “Athis! Cover me!” Freyja shouted. She ran and knelt next to Ria. There was blood flowing underneath the Imperial’s helmet, but she was still breathing. Athis raised his shield and blocked the dragon’s blows. Freyja dropped her bow and flicked her wrist, summoning and healing spell. She cast it over her Shield Sister. She could sense the crack in the girl’s skull closing, her tissues mending.  

     The dragon inhaled.  

     “ATHIS HOLD!” Freyja shouted.  

     The fire hit the shield and whipped around the trio. Athis screamed in agony but held true as Freyja finished the spell. The fire dissipated and he dropped the shield as Ria struggled to her feet. His arm was smoldering in the cold air. He dropped to the ground and curled in on himself, screaming again. Freyja cast what little magic she had left on him, trying to lesson the pain. It wasn’t enough. She picked up her bow and stood over the elf. Ria grabbed the his discarded shield and stood next to Freyja, giving her a nod.  

     The dragon turned and snapped at Vilkas, just barely missing him. Freyja shot an arrow at its throat. It shook it’s head and the arrow fell out easily.

     One of Aela’s arrows buried itself in a soft spot on the dragon’s belly, and the beast whipped its head down to snap at the shaft.

     Vilkas’s blade carved down in an arc, completely severing the dragon’s head.

     Silence descended on the plains. 

     Freyja looked around to survey the damage. Athis and Skjor seemed to be the only ones seriously injured. Ria still looked unsteady, but the spell seemed to have done it’s work. Considering the odds, things could have been so much worse.  

     “What the-” Farkas startled as the flesh of the frost dragon started to disintegrate.  

     “New Blood?” Aela questioned as the blood dragon followed suit.  

 _No. Not two at the same time!_ Freyja panicked. She tried to back away... maybe if she got far enough before the souls released... 

     She screamed as the souls from both dragons hit her. Her vision blackened and she felt the rough grass of the plains bite into her palms as she fell. The pounding in her head increased until it was her entire world. Two souls... it was more than she could bear! She was being split open as more and more power flowed into her. She could feel her body shaking on the ground, blood pulsing faster and faster before she finally lost herself...  

 

     Eventually the world came back to her, and she found herself staring up at the grey winter sky. The Companions surrounded her, looking horrified. Her face felt warm and wet. She reached up and when she withdrew her fingers, they were coated in blood.  

     “Freyja?” Njada asked, sounding uncharacteristically nervous.  

     The sound lanced through Freyja's mind like a knife and the pain in her head was instant and brutal. She turned to her side and retched.   The group shouted and swore, skipping backwards away from the whelp.

     _Behold the mighty Dovahkiin,_ she thought bitterly, as she emptied her stomach’s contents into the grass. Njada mercifully come forward and held her braid back for her until she was finished. Torvar handed her a flask of brandy to rinse her mouth out, and for once she was grateful for the man’s love of alcohol. She leaned back against a boulder and let her stomach settle. She felt like she had been trampled by a mammoth. 

     Once she had caught her breath, she looked around. Vilkas would have normally been by her side.  

     She spied him a Farkas a little way off from the group. Farkas had his hands on the slighter twin’s shoulders. Vilkas was shaking his head and breathing heavily.  

     _He’s losing control_.  

     “Vilkas!” she called. Her head rebelled at even the small effort of speaking.  

      He looked up at her sharply and his eyes were almost completely lupine. He quickly looked down again before the others could notice.  

     Freyja wiped her nose with her hand. It was still bleeding. She closed her eyes, taking a breath of the frigid air, fighting back another wave of nausea. “Vilkas, it’s alright. I’ll live.” _I hope._  

     Vilkas made his way over to her, eyes cast down on the ground and hands trembling.  

     “Easy boy,” she heard Sjkor murmur behind her.

     Freyja turned to look at the old warrior. He was being supported between Aela and Torvar. His left leg hung at an odd angle and his face was pale. “Been through worse,” he grimaced, looking down at the whelp. 

     “Athis?” Freyja called, as Vilkas knelt in front of her.  

     “He’s here” Ria called.   The dark elf was lying a short distance away, eyes shut and trembling as Ria examined the burnt flesh of his arm.  

     “Thank the gods,” Freyja closed her eyes and leaned back. A sob of relief escaped her. He was hurt but he was still alive. 

     Vilkas held a handkerchief under her nose, and she reached forward and patted him on the thigh. “I know, I’m a mess,” she admitted, her voice muffled by the linen. 

     “I thought you were dead,” Njada blurted.  

     “I might want to be in a bit,” Freyja groaned. The pain in her head was mounting. She heard the clanking of armor and opened her eyes to see a group of four Whiterun guards approaching.  

     “By the Nine! Look at the size of those things!” one exclaimed. “We saw the commotion and came as soon as we could, but it looks like you Companions have things well in hand.”

     “No thanks to you!” Sjork snarled. “Now maybe you could make yourselves actually useful and help up back to the city?” 

     “Er, of course,” another guard cleared his throat. Two took over for Aela and Torvar, and another one went to help Ria with Athis. They managed to get him up on his feet, though it looked like the guard might have to carry him.  

     The fourth approached Freyja. A low growl emanated from Vilkas and the guard stopped.  

     “He’s got it,” Freyja cautioned, waving the man away with her hand.  

     Vilkas’s head was bowed and his eyes closed.  

     “Are you going to be okay?” she asked him, cupping a bloody hand to his face.  

     He nodded but didn’t say anything.  

     “Vilkas...” she leaned forward, pulling him a little closer. 

     “Keep your head up!” he snapped. His eyes had returned to normal and he seemed no more agitated than usual.

     Freyja obeyed, closing her eyes with a groan as she sat back. “Ug, it feels like my head is going to explode.”  

     “Yes, well, it’s certainly trying its best,” Vilkas grumbled, wiping more blood from her face. “Do you think you can walk?” 

     She shook her head, which was a mistake and earned her another wave of pain. “I’m not even sure I can move” she admitted. “I’ve never had two before. It’s...” her voice lowered to a whisper, “... it’s awful, Vilkas.”

     “You guys alright?” Farkas asked, striding up to the couple.  

     Freyja said, “Yes.” While Vilkas answered “No.”  

     Farkas’s beard twitched. “Pup’s not doing to well, I take it?” He picked up Freyja’s bow. “I got this if you’ve got her.” 

     Vilkas nodded. “Thanks Farkas.” He gathered Freyja up in his arms. 

     The big man shrugged. “Hey, it’s what family is for. Come on, let’s catch up to the others.”

     The rest of the group was entering the city gates but time the trio caught them.  

     They passed the abandoned house next to Warmaiden’s. _I bet it’s quiet in there,_ Freyja pined. _I could afford it now. It would be so nice to have a place of my own..._ She sighed and lay her head on Vilkas’s shoulder.  

     There was a crowd gathered in the market, murmuring excitedly.  

     “Njada!” a voice yelled in alarm.  A hooded figure ran up to the group and wrapped her arms around the towering woman.  

     “I’m fine! Danica!” Njada rolled her eyes and pushed the priestess away with a smile. “I told you, nothing can get past my shield.” 

     “That doesn’t stop me from worrying!” Danica huffed, turning to walk with the group. 

     “It should!” Njada snapped, lacing her fingers with Danica’s. She grumbled something about about paranoid priestesses that Freyja couldn’t quite catch.

     “Huh,” Farkas said, walking next to Freyja and Vilkas. “Never figured Njada to go for the religious type.” 

     They climbed the steps toward the mead hall and Vilkas snorted. “It’s a wonder she has anyone at at all, with that attitude of hers!”  

     “Seriously, Vilkas?” Freyja mumbled. “You of all people...” 

     Farkas chuckled. “She’s got a point.” 

     Vilkas’s chest rumbled, and Freyja patted it as she lay in his arms. “Exactly.”

* * *

 

  
     Freyja sat in a chair on the great porch, wrapped in the her thick green cloak and relishing the stillness of the sleeping world around her. Her head was still throbbing from the two dragon souls, but it did feel better out here in the cold and darkness. Working on her third mug of Cyrodillic brandy probably had something to do with it as well. If it weren’t for the brain-numbing fuzziness, she would probably still be screaming in pain. _Fucking dragons._

     There was a creak of the great doors and she looked up, surprised to see the Harbinger walk out onto the porch. He rarely left his quarters these days. _His beastblood must be making him restless tonight_ , she realized. 

     “I thought I might find you out here,” the old man said, looking down at the little woman. He sat down on the bench next to her and opened a bottle of mead. “Skjor finally quit bragging about you and fell asleep." He took a sip of from his bottle. "Aela might have had to slip the stubborn old wolf something to knock him out, but you didn't hear it from me." His merry eyes winked at Freyja.   
  
      The Harbinger sighed wearily at the melancholy whelp. "You did the right thing today, letting Athis block for you while you healed Ria.” 

     Freyja shook her head. The screams from her Dunmer friend still rang in her ears, even though he was mercifully sleeping now. It had taken Danica most of the day to treat his burns. “The right thing would have been not letting them get hurt at all.” She rubbed her eyes.  

     Kodlak gave her a piecing look. “Is that why you’re out here at three in the morning, Freyja? Do you feel like you failed your Companions?” 

     She bit her lip and looked down at her mug of brandy. Memories she tried so hard bury, loosened by alcohol and exhaustion, rose to the surface. “It’s my job to keep people safe, to keep them from harm. I did fail,” she whispered. _I always do._  

     “We’re not talking about Athis and Ria anymore are we?” Kodlak said quietly.  

     Freyja sniffled and took a sip of her brandy. The sweet liquid burned down her throat, warming her from the inside out.  

     “Your family?” the Harbinger asked.  

     Freyja broke down. Strong arms wrapped in her a warm embrace, reminding her so much of her father that she wept even harder. “I was supposed to be the strong one!” she sobbed. “I was supposed to hold us together and I failed.”  

     The old man held her, and rubbed her back gently. He didn’t pry or try to give her advice, for which she was grateful. Instead, once she calmed down, he reached over and re-filled her glass of brandy from the decanter next to her. He sat back with his bottle of mead clutched in his weathered hand. 

     They looked at each other with a new sense of understanding.  

     “You saved lives today, Freyja,” the old man’s voice was stern. “Don’t let your past take that away from you. Our loved ones are sleeping under our roof rather than resting in the Hall of the Dead tonight, thanks to your quick thinking.” His tone softened. “We could have lost so many today, but we are still whole, and for that we can rejoice.” 

     Kodlak raised his drink. Waiting.

     Freyja nodded and clinked her glass against his.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked this! The next chapter will be fluffier and very domestic to make up for all this blood and angst.


	17. Hazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vilkas is in need of Freyja's more nurturing side...

     The moons shone down upon the silent training yard, bathing the rough stone in a silver light. Jorrvaskr was oddly subdued. Most of the companions were out on jobs, or “hunting” in Aela and Skjor’s case. Njada and Vilkas had returned from a job that morning. Bone weary and a little worse for wear, they had turned in early. Freyja had taken advantage of the rare quiet night, and was getting some training in. Lately, she had been finding it harder to focus when with others, and the only time she could properly train was while the rest of the world slept and she could be alone.  
  
     She spun the steel daggers in her hands and attacked her imaginary opponent. For a moment she pictured the Imperial who had captured her back when she first came to Skyrim. The one who had taken her parent’s wedding rings from her pack. She silenced the mirage’s cruel laughter. Then the image shifted, becoming the Thalmor who had blasted her into that tree three weeks ago. She struck at the shadows, and imagined burying the blade in the agent’s belly.  
  
      The doors to the mead hall opened, and the yard was bathed in warm golden light. A familiar silhouette splashed across the stones, chasing away her phantom opponents. The glow disappeared as the doors slammed shut, and the world returned to cold and silver.      
  
     Steam rose from her skin as she set her blades aside. Her breath formed little clouds as it left her lips. Winter had arrived in Skyrim. Soon she would have to give up her nighttime training in favor of warmer pursuits.    
  
 _Speaking of..._ strong arms wrapped around her from behind. They were bare and covered in gooseflesh. Through the thin fabric of her shirt, she could feel the torso they led to was bare as well.  
  
      “I thought you went to bed hours ago,” she leaned back against the solid form.  
  
      “I couldn’t sleep,” Vilkas mumbled into her hair.  
  
      Freyja realized what a sweaty mess she was. “I should go clean up,” she tried to step away, but the warrior held her fast.  
  
      “Mmm, I like it when you work up a good sweat,” she could hear the smile in his voice, “Then I can lick the salt off your body.”  He pressed his hips into her lower back.  
  
     She bit her lip as a familiar heat flooded her body. A chuckle escaped her.  “Really Vilkas!” She tried to extricate herself again without success.  
  
      “Don’t leave me,” he ordered. “Not tonight.”  
  
     There was a note of desperation in his tone that stopped her. She turned into his arms and his fierce yellow eyes blazed down at her. It wasn’t the cold that was making him tremble.  
  
      He closed his eyes and turned away, still ashamed to be seen in the grips of his curse. He had bathed earlier and now there was no warpaint, no grime to hide behind. His skin was ashen and he had dark shadows under his eyes. He seemed watered down somehow... almost a ghost.  
  
      _Gods, when was the last time he slept?_  
  
     She tugged on his scruffy chin and he obliged, lowering his lips to meet hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, losing herself in the heady aroma of woodsmoke and mead that clung to him.  
  
      Growling, Vilkas reached under her ass and hoisted her up. She wrapped her legs around his slim waist. Her hands gripped his shoulders. His entire body was tense, like an animal ready to strike.  
  
      “Freyja!” his voice rasped. Long fingers dug into the backs of her fleshy thighs.  
  
     The wildness hung in the air around them. Vilkas panted in desperation and Freyja understood. She bit his lip hard enough to sting and there was a rumble low in his chest.  
  
      She smirked. “Come on Vilkas, don’t be shy.”  
  
     He hummed happily, nuzzling her neck. “Be careful what you ask for, Little One...”  
  
      “I can handle you,” she wove her fingers through his hair, and pulled it back, exposing his long, delicate throat. “You may be the beast,” her teeth grazed the tender flesh, “but you’re not the only wild thing here.”  
  
     Vilkas shoved her against the stone wall. Freyja grinned.      
  
  


* * *

  
  
     Freyja shuddered with little aftershocks of pleasure. She leaned against the wall of the little alcove. “Feel any better, love?” her fingers trailed through Vilkas’s dark hair. In the moonlight, it looked like ink swirling across her pale flesh.  
  
      He looked up from where he lay on her stomach, “A bit.” He sank back down and closed his eyes, breathing out a shaky sigh.  
  
      “Do you think you could sleep now?”  
  
      He shook his head. “The blood still calls to me.”  
  
      Freyja slipped out from underneath him, and rose to her feet. “Come on.”   
  
     “Where are we going?” Vilkas stared at her outstretched hand skeptically.  
  
     “Just trust me,” she rolled her eyes.  
  
      With a grumble, Vilkas took her hand and got to his feet. He allowed her to lead him from the training yard and down the wide steps.  
  
      They rounded the corner and nearly smacked into another pair of figures.  
  
      “Watch where you are going!” a heavily accented voice snapped.  
  
      “Farengar?” Freyja peered into the darkness.  
  
      “Nchow!” a familiar voice swore.  
  
      “Athis!” Vilkas scowled. “What are you doing running around with the Jarl’s wizard in the middle of the night?”   
  
     “What do you think?” the Dunmer raised a pointed brow and stepped forward. He scanned the towering Nord. “Where is your shirt?”   
  
     Freyja giggled.  
  
      “Ah, it seems like we are not the only ones enjoying a romantic tryst tonight,” Farengar grinned. He turned to the dark elf. “Come, my dear. Let us return to my quarters, and let these young ones get on their way.”  
  
     “Have a good night,” Freyja nodded, giving Athis an amused look. She would have never pegged the elf as the romantic sort.  
  
      Athis hung back, for a minute. “Look, can we keep this between us?” his eyes shifted between the two Companions. “I prefer to keep my private life just that. The last thing I need is a bunch of drunken barbarians singing about a warrior and a mage.”   
  
    “Understood,” Vilkas assured him. “Not everyone is the type to shout their lover’s name from the rooftops. Or the alley behind the Bannered Mare.”  
  
      Freyja ground her teeth, growing warm despite the chill in air. “You’re never going to let me forget that are you?”   
  
     “Everyone heard it, Sera.” Athis smirked.  
  
      “Leave the poor girl alone,” Farengar said. “Let us say goodnight and get out of the cold.”  
  
      “An excellent idea!” Freyja grumbled. She strode away, pulling a chuckling Vilkas along behind her.  
  
      They stopped in front of Breezehome and Vilkas was clearly baffled. “This has been abandoned for years.”    
  
     “Not anymore,” Freyja opened the heavy door and pulled him inside.  
  
      There was a fire crackling and the room smelled of stew. Lydia sat in a chair sharpening her sword.  
  
      “Oh!” the housecarl leapt to attention, clearly startled at seeing Freyja and a half-naked man appear unannounced. “Do you need anything, My Thane?”   
  
     “Thank you, Lydia, but no. We’re fine.” Freyja closed the door behind them while Vilkas looked around the room in confusion.  
  
      “You bought a house.” He stated.   
  
     “Yes.”  
  
     “You didn’t tell me.” He scowled.  
  
      “I think I’m going to go to the Huntsman for the night,” Lydia piped up. “You too will want some privacy...” She gave her Thane a curious look, and when Freyja nodded, she made a hasty escape from the tension building in the room.   
  
     “Vilkas...” Freyja rubbed her eyes. She had been dreading this discussion, and definitely did not want to have it when he was in danger of transforming.  
  
      “You don’t like living at Jorrvaskr?” his voice was sad.  
  
 _Damn it, why does he have to look at me like that?_ “It’s not that... It’s just,” she sighed, finding it hard to find the words. “Look,” she wrapped her arms around him and looked up. “I need a space to clear my head, to have some peace. It’s kind of hard to get that when I’m sharing a room with four other people.”  
  
     Vilkas frowned.  
  
     Freyja huffed in exasperation. “I’ll still be at the mead hall most of the time,” she assured him. “But it’s nice to have another option when I need one. You know I’m not really one for crowds.” She lightly scratched her nails along his back.  
  
      He rumbled happily and arched his back. “Fine! I suppose I see the sense in it.” His eyelashes fluttered and he swayed.  
  
      “It’s alright, I’ve got you,” Freyja murmured. She steered him over to a chair by the fire and pushed him down.  
  
      “Gods, I’m so tired!” his voice broke. He dragged a hand over his stubble. “I’d sell my soul for a cure to this curse. So long as I could finally have a good night’s rest.”  
  
      It broke Freyja’s heart to see him like this. _I’d sell my soul too, if it meant giving him peace._ “Kodlak will find something,” she assured him.  
  
      She found a pot of leftover stew Lydia had left on the table and hung it on the spit over the fire. The two women had purchased some mammoth steaks this morning at the market. She opened the chest at the back of the room and was relieved to find there were still two nestled in amongst the ice wraith teeth. Removing one, she seasoned it with salt and herbs, and threw it in a pan with a pat of butter and a clove of garlic. Carefully, she shifted the stew pot over and hung the steak pan next to it.  
  
      “I’ll be right back,” she called as she dashed up to the bedroom. There was still water in the pitcher on the dresser, so she was able to clean up and get dressed without having to go to the town well. It was so nice to have a real home again.  
  
     She returned downstairs in a simple lavender shift, feeling much more refreshed and ready to deal with Vilkas.      The werewolf in question sat by the fire, bouncing his knee restlessly. “I don’t think I should be indoors tonight,” he confessed.  
  
      “Relax, Vil. You’ll be fine,” Freyja soothed, giving his shoulder a squeeze as she walked by him.    
   
     “It’s not me I’m worried about, dear.”  
   
      “Just hang on a little longer. You’ll feel better soon,” she promised as she grabbed a plate from a nearby cabinet. There was a loaf of crusty bread sitting and there were a few slices already cut. She took one and slathered with butter from the little crock on the table. Walking to the fire, she grabbed the tongs and plopped the mammoth steak down next to the bread. She set the loaded plate on the side table next to Vilkas’s chair. Soon it was accompanied by a bowl of stew and a bottle of mead.  
  
     “Eat,” she ordered, wandering to her bookshelf.  
  
      “All of it?” Vilkas’s eyes widened.  
  
      “You’ll sleep better with a full stomach,” she explained, returning with her leather-bound sketchbook. She swapped out the dirty pans for a small pot of water. “We can’t have you wasting away.” She poked Vilkas playfully in his ribs before settling in the chair next to him. He had been looking thinner lately and it worried her. _Maybe Aela is right. Resisting the beast blood seems to be doing him more harm than good._  
  
      As Vilkas devoured his meal, Freyja worked on a sketch of The Gildergreen. She thought about picking up some red ink so she could capture the pink of the leaves. _And maybe some blue for when I draw his eyes..._  
  
     They were blue. Beautiful, serene, blue as they watched her. They were bloodshot, and surrounded by darkness, but they were human. _Thank the gods._  
  
     Freyja got up and made some tea with the hot water over the fire. She put a few drops from a green vial into Vilkas’s mug.  
  
      “What was that?” he asked, taking the steaming vessel.  
  
      “A stamina draining potion. It will help you sleep.”  
  
      He furrowed his brow. “What if we are attacked in the middle of the night? I won’t be able to fight.”  
  
     “I’ll protect you,” she winked. “Plus we have guards within sight of the house. I’m sure it will be fine.” She dropped the playful attitude. “Please, Vilkas. You need to rest.”   
  
     He gave a little nod and sipped the elixir while Freyja cleared the dishes. When she returned the mug was empty. She took him by the hand and led him up the stairs. He sank into the bed with a groan. She slid in next to him and pulled up the bed furs.  
  
      “See?” she lay her head on his bare chest. “You are clean, well fed and safe. Even the fiercest wolf would be satiated.”  
  
      He draped his arm over her and pulled her closer. “Mmm, I love you,” he mumbled into the top of her hair.  
  
      Her heart hammered but she couldn’t help smiling into the darkness. “I love you too, Vilkas.”     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY for the long delay! I had this chapter all in my head, but I injured my eye and couldn't write (or see properly at all) for a while. But now I'm all healed up and ready to get back to the story!


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